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UNWRITTEN  HISTORY. 


J^^s>>^^^ 


THE  ]\I)IAX  MOTHER. 


UNWRITTEN  HISTORY: 


LIFE    AMONGST    THE    MODOCS, 


BY 


JOAQUIN    MILLER 


ILLUSTRATED     FROM     NEW    DESIGNS, 


SOLD    BY    SUBSCRIPTION    ONLY. 


HARTFORD,   CONK: 
AMERICAN    PUBLISHING     COMPANY. 

1874. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874,  by  the 

AMERICAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 

in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


E.19 


TO 

THE    RED    MEN    OF    AMERICA. 


M652165 


PUBLISHER'S  ANNOUNCEMENT. 

In  offering  this'  book  to  the  American  Public  the  publish- 
ers have  not  failed  to  consider  the  fact  that  its  author's  views 
of  the  relations  existing  between  the  White  and  Indian  Races, 
and  the  question  of  justice  having  been  done  the  latter,  will 
not  accord  with  those  of  many  of  our  people.  A  view  of 
the  case  from  the  Red  Man's  stand-point  is  a  novel  one,  and 
although  some  features  presented  thereby  might  endanger 
the  repose  of  his  conscience,  yet  it  is  a  view  which  every 
honest  American  should  endeavor  to  obtain.  Strong  preju- 
dices exist  against  the  Indian;  how  justly,  it  should  be  the 
desire  of  all  to  ascertain.  Without  pen,  type,  press  or  other 
means  of  public  contradiction,  explanation  or  defence,  the 
Indian  helplessly  suffers  from  the  manufactured  or  garbled 
statements  of  parties  interested  in  keeping  the  public  mind 
darkened  in  regard  to  the  truth.  There  are  "  two  sides  to 
every  story."  The  White  Man's  version  of  his  dealings  with 
the  Indian  has  been  for  years  repeated  over  and  over  again 
to  the  public.  The  other  side,  with  its  exposition  of  injus- 
tice and  cruelty,  has  yet  to  be  told.  Of  this  side,  in  these 
pages  the  author  speaks.  His  life  among  the  Indians  and 
his  knowledge  of  their  inner  life  fit  him  for  the  task,  and  it 
is  hoped  and  believed  by  his  publishers,  that  a  public,  ever  as 
ready  to  receive  the  truth,  will  rejoice  to  avail  itself  of  this 
opportunity  to  look  for  once  upon  the  doomed  Indian,  as 
portrayed  by  a  pen  employed  in  his  behalf. 

To  the  American  Edition,  the  Publishers  have  thought 
proper  to  add  an  appendix,  containing  extracts  from  papers 
accompanying  the  report  of  the  commissioner  of  Indian  affairs 
in  1873,  which  go  to  sustain  the  position  of  our  Author. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Page 

1  Frontispiece,  Portrait,  The  Author — 

2  Crossing  the  Summit To  Pace  28 

3  At  a  Disadvantage "  "  37 

4  A  Forced  Balance "  "  57 

5  "  Now  You  Git." "  "  80 

6  Among  Barbarians "  "  85 

7  Winning  the  Bet "  "  98 

8  The  Other  Side  of  the  Story "  "  120 

9  Receiving  the  New  Judge "  "  157 

10  Paquita "  "  172 

11  Captain  Jim "  "  184 

12  The  Tables  Turned "  "  226 

13  The  Lost  Cabin "  "  235 

14  The  Farewell "  "  259 

15  The  Indian  Bridal "  "  280 

16  My  First  Battle "  "  294 

17  Pistol  Practice "  "  337 

18  Discussing  Peace  Measures - "  M  362 

19  The  Struggle  for  Life "  "  384 

20  Funeral  of  Paquita "  "  390 

21  Klamat's  Prophecy "  "  399 

22  The  Indian  Mother "  "  421 

23  The  Doctor's  Home "  "  426 

24  Calli  Shasta M  "  431 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

SHADOWS    OF    SHASTA. 

Mount  Shasta— Mining  Camps— The  Miners  of  Old— The  Original  Pos- 
sessors of  the  Forests— A  Pace  without  a  Historian— A  Word  for  the 
Indian— The  Ben  Wright  Massacre  of  Indians— Retaliation  and 
Revenge— My  First  Sight  of  Shasta— Monument  of  Stones 17 

CHAPTER  II. 

EL.    VAQDERO. 

Wild  Horses  and  Wild  Men— Engaged  with  a  Drover — An  Indian 
Attack— A  Merciful  Savage — Among  the  Shastas — Lonely  Life  of  the 
Indian — How  he  Spends  his  Evenings— The  "Indian  Question"  from 
an  Indian's  Point  of  View 32 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE   FINGER — BOARD    OF   FATE. 

Neither  a  Boy  nor  a  Man — The  letter  "I"— The  pronoun  "We" — 
Massacre  of  my  Indian  Friends— The  beautiful  Klamat — The  Prince 
— The  discomfited  Boatman 4G 

CHAPTER  IV. 

HIGH,    LOW,    JACK   AND   THE   GAME. 

The  Prince  meets  an  Acquaintance — "  Boston's  Best" — Clean  broke — 
How  it  was  Done — Yreka — All  right  Now— The  Negro  Stable  Keeper.     GO 

CHAPTER  V. 

IN   A   CALIFORNIA   MINING   CAMP. 

Alone  in  a  City — Men  to  be  Avoided — Stolen  Slumbers — A  Peep  at  the 
Mines  and  Miners — The  One- Eyed  Negro — A  Desperate  Race — How- 
dy-do?—Take  a  Drink?— The  Bar  Room— The  Swoon— The  Moon- 
Eyed  Heathen  Nurse— Recovery 72 

CHAPTER  VI. 

DOWN   AMONG   THE    LIVE   MEN. 

The  Prince — En-Route  for  Humbug — Three  Thousand  Men,  not  a 
Woman  or  a  Child — "The  Forks"— "The  Howlin' Wilderness  " — 
♦'Long  Dan  "—The  Bet- Dying  with  Boots  on— The  Cigars  Won..     87 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 
snow!  nothing  but  snow! 
A  Struggle  for  Life — Winter  Life  in  the  Mines — The  Prince  in  Extremi- 
ties      99 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

BLOOD    ON   THE   SNOW. 

Hard  Times  with  the  Indians— Model  White  Men — A  Man  Killed — 
Rally  to  the  Bar  and  take  a  Drink— Death  to  the  Indian — No  Quar- 
ters to  Women  or  Children— The  "  Sydney  Duck  " — Rescue  of  Paqui- 
ta  and  Klamath . 110 

CHAPTER  IX. 

A  WORD   TOR   THE   RED   MAN. 

The  True  Indian — False  Testimony  against  them — The  White  Man's 
side  of  the  Story — Who  tells  the  Indians'  side? — A  Quaker's  Experi- 
ence with  Indians — Treatment  of  the  Indians  by  the  Government — 
The  Prince  and  his  Proteges — The  Doctor 125 

CHAPTER  X. 

TWO   LITTLE    INDIANS. 

Paquita  and  Klamath — The  New  Alcade  and  his  Hat— Six  Foot  Sandy 
— The  Judge  and  his  new  Beaver 145 

CHAPTER  XL 

A   MAN   FOR   BREAKFAST. 

The  Judge  set  to  Work — The  Trial  of  Spades— Murder  of  the  Judge — 
Fate  of  the  Beaver  Hat 159 

CHAPTER  XII. 

BONE    AND     SINEW. 

Still  in  the  Mines — The  Pet  of  the  Camp— The  Doctor  under  a  Cloud — 
The  Doomed  Race— Why  the  Indians  Die— The  last  of  his  Race 175 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

A    STORM    IN    THE    SIERRAS. 

PaqunVs  Story — Indians  as  Travelers— The  coming  Storm— Flood  and 
Ruin ... 186 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

A    HOME    TO    LET. 

The  Departure— Cabin  to  Let— The  blind  Trail— Klamat  as  a  Leader— 
A  Pursuing  Party— Braying  of  a  Mule— The  Flight 194 


CONTENTS.  Xlll 

CHAPTER  XV. 

TURN   TO    THE    RIGHT    AS    THE   LAW   DIRECTS. 

Difficulties  of  Mountain  Travel— Sight  of  Shasta— Delight  of  Paquita— 
The  Pursuers  and  what  they  wanted— The  Run — Camping  out — Cap- 
tured—The Table  Turned— The  Captors  Prisoners 206 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

HOME. 

The  Doctor  recovers  Suddenly— The  Journey  Proceeds — Camp  in  the 
Wilderness — The  famous  "Last  Cabin" — Paquita' s  Journey — The 
Indians  at  Home 229 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    LOST    CABIN. 

Winter  again — The  Elk — The  Black  Bear — Klamat  as  a  Hunter — The 
Winter  passes,  and  Spring  comes  once  more — Paquita  not  returned — 
Gold  found  by  the  Prince  and  Doctor— The  Doctor  leaves— Paquita 
returns— Her  Story — Her  Brothers — The  Prince's  Oath — The  Prince 
and  the  Child— Followed 241 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

GOOD-BYE. 

Indian  Habits— The  Autumn  Feasts — Paquita  in  her  Maidenhood — The 
Prince  Thoughtful  and  Sad — The  Prince  says  Good-Bye 252 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  INDIANS'  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  CREATION. 

At  night  in  the  Indian  Camp— The  Great  Spirit — The  Creation — Ascent 
of  Mount  Shasta — The  Missionary's  Visit — The  Indians  around  Mount 
Shasta — Their  thirst  for  Knowledge — Story  Tellers — Teaching  Geog- 
raphy—Morals— Superstitions — The  Creation  of  the  Tribe — The  Griz- 
zly Bear  sacred— Thoughts  on  Death  and  Burial — The  Indians' 
Heaven — Marriage  Ceremony 2G2 

CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    LAST    OF    THE    LOST   CABIN. 

A  Chiefs  views  of  our  Language  and  Bible— Burning  of  the  Cabin  — 
Thirst  for  Gold  an  Evil 282 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

MY   FIRST    BATTLE. 

Mountain  Joe—Devil's  Castle— The  Eve  of  the  Battle— Struck  by  an 
Arrow — The  Indian  Squaw— Her  Mournings  and  Reproaches — A  Re- 
turn to  Old  Friends  290 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

MY   NEW   REPUBLIC. 

A  Plan  for  Peace— Among  the  Modoc's— A  Hobby— Means  to  accom- 
plish my  Ends— Winter  Camps  on  the  M'Cloud— The  Pit  River  Val- 
ley Massacre 298 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

DOWN  IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  DEATH. 

A  Visit  to  the  Scene  of  the  Massacre— An  Indian  Camp— The  Valley  of 
Death — Indian    Squaws — Sam   Lockhart — A   Prisoner   at   Yreka — A 

Poor  Reward  for  a  Dangerous  service 306 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A   PRISONER. 

Expedition  against  the  Indians— Its  Motives — "  The  Man  who  lived 
with  the  Indians" — His  Doom  Foretold— Gideon  S.  Whiting — 
Prom  a  Prisoner  to  a  Leader. — Physical  Courage — The  Expedition  a 
Success — White  Butchers — Return  to  Yreka — Good-bye  to  the  Expe- 
dition— An  Attempt  at  Assassination — Squaw  Valley 313 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

A   NEW    DEPARTURE. 

Sitting  on  two  Chairs — Casting  lot  with  the  Indians — The  "Rubicon" 
Crossed — An  Indian  is  an  Indian — No  distinction  in  Tribes — A  visit  to 
Yreka — A     Dangerous    Enterprise — Obtaining    Ammunition — Plight 

with  Booty — An  Explosion — Wailing  for  the  Dead 323 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A    BLOODY   MEETING. 

Bill  Hirst  the  famous  Man-Killer — Scene  in  a  Billiard  Saloon — Antago- 
nists  Face  to   Face — A   Second   Meeting — The   Battle   opens — The 

Result 333 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

BRADLEY   AND    HIRST. 

An  Enemy  Returned — Fast  Friends — Hanging  Highwaymen — My  first 
Client — Hirst  in  Court — A  Desperate  Fight — Refusing  to  Die — Aston- 
ishing   Recovery— Another  Fight — Another  wonderful    Recovery — 

Killed  again,  and  another  Recovery — Still  Living 338 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

BATTLES    ON    THE   BORDER. 

Effect  of  Bullets— Friends  appear — Return  to  the  Indians — Indian  Sig- 
nals— Another  Friend — Another  Massacre  of  Indians — A  Splendid 
Horse  and  Ride — The  Camp— Blood  !  Blood  !  Blood ! — Klamat — Paq- 
uita — Indian  Heroines — A  Battle — A  Council  of  War — A  Mission  of 
Peace — Sympathy  of  the  Mexicans— Approach  to  the  White  Camp. . .  340 


LIFE  AMONGST  THE  MODOCS : 

UNWRITTEN  HISTORY. 
CHAPTER  L 

SHADOWS    OF   SHASTA. 

S  lone  as  God,  and  white  as  a  winter  moon, 
Mount  Shasta  starts  up  sudden  and  solitary 
w&fyk  from  the  heart  of  the  great  black  forests  of 
Northern  California. 

You  would  hardly  call  Mount  Shasta  a  part  of  the 
Sierras;  you  would  say  rather  that  it  is  the  great 
white  tower  of  some  ancient  and  eternal  wall,  with 
here  and  there  the  white  walls  overthrown.  ' 

It  has  no  rival !  There  is  not  even  a  snow-crowned 
subject  in  sight  of  its  dominion.  A  shining  pyramid 
in  mail  of  everlasting  frosts  and  ice,  the  sailor  some- 
times, in  a  day  of  singular  clearness,  catches  glimpses 
of  it  from  the  sea  a  hundred  miles  away  to  the  west ; 
and  it  may  be  seen  from  the  dome  of  the  capital  340 
miles  distant.     The  immigrant  coming  from  the  east 

beholds  the  snowy,  solitary  pillar  from  afar  out  on 
B  17 


18  SIIADO  WS  OF  SHASTA. 

the  arid  sage-brush  plains,  and  lifts  his  hands  in 
silence  as  in  answer  to  a  sign. 

Column  upon  column  of  storm-stained  tamarack, 
strong-tossing  pines,  and  war-like  looking  firs  have 
rallied  here.  They  stand  with  their  backs  against 
this  mountain,  frowning  down  dark-browed,  and  con- 
fronting the  face  of  the  Saxon.  They  defy  the  ad- 
vance of  civilization  into  their  ranks.  What  if  these 
dark  and  splendid  columns,  a  hundred  miles  in  depth, 
should  be  the  last  to  go  down  in  America !  What 
if  this  should  be  the  old  guard  gathered  here,  mar- 
shalled around  their  emperor  in  plumes  and  armour, 
that  may  die  but  not  surrender. 

Ascend  this  mountain,  stand  against  the  snow 
above  the  upper  belt  of  pines,  and  take  a  glance  be- 
low. Toward  the  sea  nothing  but  the  black  and 
unbroken  forest.  Mountains,  it  is  true,  dip  and 
divide  and  break  the  monotony  as  the  waves  break 
up  the  sea ;  yet  it  is  still  the  sea,  still  the  unbroken 
forest,  black  and  magnificent.  To  the  south  the 
landscape  sinks  and  declines  gradually,  but  still  main- 
tains its  column  of  dark-plumed  grenadiers,  till  the 
Sacramento  Valley  is  reached,  nearly  a  hundred  miles 
away.  Silver  rivers  run  here,  the  sweetest  in  the 
world.  They  wind  and  wind  among  the  rocks 
and  mossy  roots,  with  California  lilies,  and  the  yew 
with  scarlet  berries  dipping  in  the  water,  and  trout 
idling  in  the  eddies  and  cool  places  by  the  basket- 


811  ADO  WS  OF  SHASTA.  19 

ful.  On  the  east,  the  forest  still  keeps  up  unbroken 
rank  till  the  Pit  River  valley  is  reached ;  and  even 
there  it  surrounds  the  valley,  and  locks  it  up  tight 
in  its  black  embrace.  To  the  north,  it  is  true,  Shasta 
valley  makes  quite  a  dimple  in  the  sable  sea,  and 
men  plough  there,  and  Mexicans  drive  mules  or  herd 
their  mustang  ponies  on  the  open  plain.  But  the 
valley  is  limited,  surrounded  by  the  forest  confined 
and  imprisoned. 

Look  intently  down  among  the  black  and  rolling 
hills,  forty  miles  away  to  the  west,  and  here  and  there 
you  will  see  a  haze  of  cloud  or  smoke  hung  up  above 
the  trees ;  or,  driven  by  the  wind  that  is  coming  from 
the  sea,  it  may  drag  and  creep  along  as  if  tangled  in 
the  tops. 

These  are  mining  camps.  Men  are  there,  down  in 
these  dreadful  canons,  out  of  sight  of  the  sun,  swal- 
lowed up,  buried  in  the  impenetrable  gloom  of  the 
forest,  toiling  for  gold.  Each  one  of  these  camps  is 
a  world  in  itself.  History,  romance,  tragedy,  poetry 
in  every  one  of  them.  They  are  connected  together, 
and  reach  the  outer  world  only  by  a  narrow  little 
pack  trail,  stretching  through  the  timber,  stringing 
round  the  mountains,  barely  wide  enough  to  admit 
of  footmen  and  little  Mexican  mules  with  their 
apparajos,  to  pass  in  single  file.  We  will  descend 
into  one  of  these  camps  by-and-by.  I  dwelt  there  a 
year,  many   and   many  a  year  ago.     I  shall   picture 


20  SHAD  0  WS  OF  SHASTA. 

that  camp  as  it  was,  and  describe  events  as  they  hap- 
pened.    Giants  were  there,  great  men  were  there. 

They  were  very  strong,  energetic  and  resolute,  and 
hence  were  neither  gentle  or  sympathetic.  They 
were  honourable,  noble,  brave  and  generous,  and  yet 
they  would  have  dragged  a  Trojan  around  the  wall 
by  the  heels  and  thought  nothing  of  it.  Coming 
suddenly  into  the  country  with  prejudices  against 
and  apprehensions  of  the  Indians,  of  whom  they 
knew  nothing  save  through  novels,  they  of  course 
were  in  no  mood  to  study  their  nature.  Besides, 
they  knew  that  they  were  in  a  way,  trespassers  if 
not  invaders,  that  the  Government  had  never  treated 
for  the  land  or  offered  any  terms  whatever  to  the 
Indians,  and  like  most  men  who  feel  that  they 
are  somehow  in  the  wrong,  did  not  care  to  get 
on  terms  with  their  antagonists.  They  would  have 
named  the  Indian  a  Trojan,  and  dragged  him 
around,  not  only  by  the  heels  but  by  the  scalp,  rath- 
er than  have  taken  time  or  trouble,  as  a  rule,  to  get 
in  the  right  of  the  matter. 

I  say  that  the  greatest,  and  the  grandest  body  of 
men  that  have  ever  been  gathered  together  since  the 
seige  of  Troy,  was  once  here  on  the  Pacific.  I  grant 
that  they  were  rough  enough  sometimes.  I  admit 
that  they  took  a  peculiar  delight  in  periodical  six- 
shooter  war  dances,  these  wild-bearded,  hairy-breasted 
men,  and  that  they  did  a  great  deal  of  promiscuous 


SIIADO  WS  OF  SHASTA.  21 

killing  among  each  other,  but  then  they  did  it  in 
such  a  manly  sort  of  way  ! 

There  is  another  race  in  these  forests.  I  lived 
with  them  nearly  five  years.  A  great  sin  it  was 
thought  then,  indeed.  You  do  not  see  the  smoke  of 
their  wigwams  through  the  trees.  They  do  not 
smite  the  mountain  rocks  for  gold,  nor  fell  the  pines, 
nor  roil  up  the  waters  and  ruin  them  for  the  fisher- 
men. All  this  magnificent  forest  is  their  estate. 
The  Great  Spirit  made  this  mountain  first  of  all,  and 
gave  it  to  them,  they  say,  and  they  have  possessed  it 
ever  since.  They  preserve  the  forest,  keep  out  the 
fires,  for  it  is  the  park  for  their  deer. 

I  shall  endeavour  to  make  this  sketch  of  my  life 
with  the  Indians — a  subject  about  which  so  much  has 
been  written  and  so  little  is  known — true  in  every 
particular.  In  so  far  as  I  succeed  in  doing  that  I 
think  the  work  will  be  novel  and  original.  No  man 
with  a  strict  regard  for  truth  should  attempt  to  write 
his  autobiography  with  a  view  to  publication  during 
his  life  ;  the  temptations  are  too  great. 

A  man  standing  on  the  gallows,  without  hope  of 
descending  and  mixing  again  with  his  fellow  men, 
might  trust  himself  to  utter  uthe  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,"  as  the  law  hath  it ; 
and  a  Crusoe  on  his  island,  without  sail  in  sight  or 
hope  of  sail,  might  be  equally  sincere,  but  I  know  of 
few  other  conditions  in  which  I  could  follow  a  man 


22  SHAD  0  WS  OF  SHASTA. 

through  his  account  of  himself  with  perfect  confidence. 

This  narrative,  however,  while  the  thread  of  it  is 
necessarily  spun  around  a  few  years  of  my  early  life, 
is  not  particularly  of  myself,  but  of  a  race  of  people 
that  has  lived  centuries  of  history  and  never  yet  had  a 
historian  ;  that  has  suffered  nearly  four  hundred  years 
of  wrong,  and  never  yet  had  an  advocate. 

I  must  write  of  myself,  because  I  was  among  these 
people  of  whom  I  write,  though  often  in  the  back- 
ground, giving  place  to  the  inner  and  actual  lives  of 
a  silent  and  mysterious  people,  a  race  of  prophets ; 
poets  without  the  gift  of  expression — a  race  that  has 
been  often,  almost  always,  mistreated,  and  never 
understood — a  race  that  is  moving  noiselessly  from 
the  face  of  the  earth ;  dreamers  that  sometimes  waken 
from  their  mysteriousness  and  simplicity,  and  then, 
blood,  brutality,  and  all  the  ferocity  that  marks  a  man 
of  maddened  passions,  women  without  mercy  and 
without  reason,  brand  them  with  the  appropriate 
name  of  savages. 

But  beyond  this,  I  have  a  word  to  say  for  the 
Indian..  I  saw  him  as  he  was,  not  as  he  is.  In 
one  little  spot  of  our  land,  I  saw  him  as  he  was 
centuries  ago  in  every  part  of  it  perhaps,  a  Druid  and 
a  dreamer — the  mildest  and  the  tamest  of  beings. 
I  saw  him  as  no  man  can  see  him  now.  I  saw  him 
as  no  man  ever  saw  him  who  had  the  desire  and 
patience  to  observe,  the  sympathy  to  understand,  and 


SRADO  WS  OF  SHASTA.  23 

the  intelligence  to  communicate  his  observation  to 
those  who  would  really  like  to  understand  him. 
He  is  truly  "  the  gentle  savage  ; "  the  worst  and  the 
best  of  men,  the  tamest  and  the  fiercest  of  beings. 
The  world  cannot  understand  the  combination  of  these 
two  qualities.  For  want  of  truer  comparison  let  us 
liken  him  to  a  jealous  woman — a  whole  souled  un- 
cultured woman,  strong  in  her  passions  and  her  love. 
A  sort  of  Parisian  woman,  now  made  desperate  by  a 
long  siege  and  an  endless  war. 

A  singular  combination  of  circumstances  laid  his 
life  bare  to  me.  I  was  a  child  and  he  was  a  child. 
He  permitted  me  to  enter  his  heart. 

As  I  write  these  opening  lines  here  to-day  in  the 
Old  World,  a  war  of  extermination  is  declared  against 
the  Modoc  Indians  in  the  New.  I  know  these  people. 
I  know  every  foot  of  their  once  vast  possessions, 
stretching  away  to  the  north  and  east  of  Mount  Shasta. 
I  know  their  rights  and  their  wrongs.  I  have  known 
them  for  nearly  twenty  years. 

Peace  commissioners  have  been  killed  by  the 
Modocs,  and  the  civilized  world  condemns  the 
act.  I  am  not  prepared  to  defend  it.  This  nar- 
rative is  not  for  its  defence,  or  for  the  defence  of 
the  Indian  or  any  one ;  but  I  could,  by  a  ten-line 
paragraph,  throw  a  bombshell  into  the  camp  of  the 
civilized  world  at  this  moment,  and  change  the  whole 
drift  of  public  opinion.     But  it  would  be  too  late  to 


24  SIIADO  WS  OF  SHASTA. 

be  of  any  particular  use  to  this  one  doomed  tribe. 

Years  and  years  ago,  when  Captain  Jack  was  but 
a  boy,  the  Modocs  were  at  war  with  the  whites,  who 
were  then  scouring  the  country  in  search  of  gold. 
A  company  took  the  field  under  the  command  of  a 
brave  and  reckless  ruffian  named  Ben  Wright. 

The  Indians  were  not  so  well  armed  and  equipped 
as  their  enemies.  The  necessities  of  the  case,  to  say 
nothing  of  their  nature,  compelled  them  to  fight  from 
behind  the  cover  of  the  rocks  and  trees.  They  were 
hard  to  reach,  and  generally  came  out  best  in  the 
few  little  battles  that  were  fought. 

In  this  emergency  Captain  Wright  proposed  to  meet 
the  chiefs  in  council,  for  the  purpose  of  making  a 
lasting  and  permanent  treaty.  The  Indians  consent- 
ed, and  the  leaders  came  in.  "  Go  back,"  said  Wright, 
"  and  bring  in  all  your  people ;  we  will  have  council, 
and  celebrate  our  peace  with  a  feast." 

The  Indians  came  in  in  great  numbers,  laid 
down  their  arms,  and  then  at  a  sign  Wright  and  his 
men  fell  upon  them,  and  murdered  them  without 
mercy.  Captain  Wright  boasted  on  his  return  that 
he  had  made  a,  permanent  treaty  with  at  least  a  thou- 
sand Indians. 

Captain  Jack  was  but  a  boy  then,  but  he  was  a 
true  Indian.  He  was  not  a  chief  then.  I  believe  he 
was  not  even  of  the  blood  which  entitles  him  to  that 
place   by  inheritance,   but  he   was  a   bold,   shrewd 


SIIADO  WS  OF  SJTASTA.  25 

Indian,  and  won  the  confidence  of  the  tribe.  He 
united  himself  to  a  band  of  the  Modocs,  worked  his 
way  to  their  head,  and  bided  his  time  for  revenge. 
For  nearly  half  a  lifetime  he  and  his  warriors  waited 
their  chance,  and  when  it  came  they  were  not  un- 
equal to  the  occasion. 

They  have  murdered,  perhaps,  one  white  man  to 
one  hundred  Indians  that  were  butchered  in  the 
same  way,  and  not  so  very  far  from  the  same  spot. 
I  deplore  the  conduct  of  the  Modocs.  It  will  con- 
tribute to  the  misfortune  of  nearly  every  Indian  in 
America,  however  well  some  of  the  rulers  of  the  land 
may  feel  towards  the  race. 

With  these  facts  before  you,  considering  our 
superiority  in  understanding  right  and  wrong,  and 
all  that,  you  may  not  be  so  much  surprised  at  the 
faithful  following  in  this  case  of  the  example  we  set 
the  Modoc  Indians,  which  resulted  in  the  massacre, 
and  the  universal  condemnation  of  Captain  Jack  and 
his  clan. 

To  return  to  my  reason  for  publishing  this  sketch 
at  this  time.  You  will  see  that  treating  chiefly  of 
the  Indians,  as  it  does,  it  may  render  them  a  service, 
that  by-and-by  would  be  of  but  little  use,  by  instruct- 
ing good  men  who  have  to  deal  with  this  peculiar 
people. 

I  know  full  well  how  many  men  there  are  on  the 
border   who   are   ready   to   rise   up   and    contradict 


26  SB  ADO  WS  OF  SHASTA. 

everything  that  looks  like  clemency  or  an  apology 
for  the  Indian,  and  have  therefore  given  only  a  brief 
account  of  the  Ben  Wright  treachery  and  tragedy, 
and  only  such  an  account  as  I  believe  the  fiercest 
enemy  of  the  Indians  living  in  that  region  admits  to 
be  true,  or  at  least,  such  an  account  as  Ben  Wright 
gave  and  was  accustomed  to  boast  of. 

The  Indian  account  of  the  affair,  however,  which  I 
have  heard  a  hundred  times  around  their  camp  fires, 
and  over  which  they  seemed  to  never  tire  of  brooding 
and  mourning,  is  quite  another  story.  It  is  dark 
and  dreadful.  The  day  is  even  yet  with  them,  a  sort 
of  St.  Bartholomew's  Eve,  and  their  mournful  narra- 
tion of  all  the  bloody  and  brutal  events  would  fill  a 
volume. 

They  waited  for  revenge,  a  very  bad  thing  for 
Indians  to  do,  I  find ;  though  a  Christian  king  can 
wait  a  lifetime,  and  a  Christian  nation  half  a  century. 
They  saw  their  tribe  wasting  away  every  year; 
every  year  the  hordes  of  white  settlers  were  eating 
into  the  heart  of  their  hunting  grounds,  still  they  lay 
in  their  lava  beds  or  moved  like  shadows  through  the 
stormy  forests  and  silently  waited,  and  then  when 
the  whites  came  into  their  camp  to  talk  for  peace,  as 
they  had  gone  into  the  camp  of  the  whites,  they 
showed  themselves  but  too  apt  scholars  in  the  bloody 
lesson  of  long  ago. 

The  scene  of  this  narrative  lies  immediately  about 


SIIADO  WS  OF  SHASTA.  27 

the  base  of  Mount  Shasta.  The  Klamat  river  with  its 
tributaries  flows  from  its  snows  on  the  north,  and  the 
quiet  Sacramento  from  the  south.  The  Shasta 
Indians,  now  but  the  remnant  of  a  tribe  at  one  time 
the  most  powerful  on  the  Pacific,  live  at  the  south 
base  of  the  mountain,  while  the  Modocs  and  Pit 
Eiver  Indians  live  at  the  east  and  north-east,  with  the 
Klamats  still  to  the  north.  The  other  sides  and  base 
of  the  mountain  is  disputed  territory,  since  the  driv- 
ing out  of  its  original  owners,  between  settlers  and 
hunters,  and  the  roving  bands  of  Indians. 

It  was  late  in  the  fall.  I  do  not  know  the  day 
or  even  remember  the  month ;  but  I  do  know  that  I 
was  alone,  a  frail,  sensitive,  girl-looking  boy,  almost 
destitute,  trying  to  make  my  way  to  the  mines  of 
California,  and  that  before  I  had  ridden  my  little 
spotted  Cayuse  pony  half  way  up  the  ten-mile  trail 
that  then  crossed  the  Siskiyou  mountains,  I  met 
little  patches  of  snow ;  and  that  a  keen,  cold  wind 
came  pitching  down  between  the  trees  into  my  face 
from  the  California  side  of  the  summit. 

At  one  place  I  saw  where  a  moccasin  track  was  in 
the  snow,  and  leading  across  the  trail ;  a  very  large 
track  I  thought  it  was  then,  but  now  I  know  that 
it  was  made  by  many  feet  stepping  in  the  same  im- 
pression. 

My  dress  was  scant  enough  for  winter,  and  it  was 
chill  and  dismal.     A  fantastic  dress,  too,  for  one  look- 


28  SHADO  WS  OF  SHASTA. 

ing  to  the  rugged  life  of  a  miner;  a  sort  of  cross 
between  an  Indian  chief  and  a  Mexican  vaquero,  with 
a  preference  for  colour  carried  to  extremes. 

As  I  approached  the  summit  the  snow  grew  deeper, 
and  the  dark  firs,  weighted  with  snow,  reached  their 
sable  and  supple  limbs  across  my  path  as  if  to  catch 
me  by  the  yellow  hair,  that  fell,  like  a  school-giiTs, 
on  my  shoulders.  Some  of  the  little  firs  were  cov- 
ered with  snow,  and  were  converted  into  pyramids 
and  snowy  pillars. 

I  crossed  the  summit  in  safety,  with  a  dreamy  sort 
of  delight,  a  half -articulated  "  Thank  God  ! "  and 
began  to  descend.  Here  the  snow  disappeared  on  the 
south  side  of  the  mountain,  and  a  generous  flood  of 
sunshine  took  its  place. 

After  a  while  I  turned  a  sharp-cut  point  in  the 
trail,  with  dense  woods  hanging  on  either  shoulder, 
and  an  open  world  before  me.  I  lifted  my  eyes  and 
looked  away  to  the  south. 

Mount  Shasta  was  before  me.  For  the  first  time  I 
now  looked  upon  the  mountain  in  whose  shadows  so 
many  tragedies  were  to  be  enacted  ;  the  most  comely 
and  perfect  snow  peak  in  America.  Nearly  a  hundred 
miles  away,  it  seemed  in  the  pure,  clear  atmosphere 
of  the  mountains  to  be  almost  at  hand.  Above  the 
woods,  above  the  clouds,  almost  above  the  snow,  it 
looked  like  the  first  approach  of  land  to  another 
world.     Away  across  a  grey  sea  of  clouds  that  arose 


CROSSING  THE  SUMMIT. 


SI1AD0  WS  OF  SHASTA.  23 

from  the  Klamat  and  Sliasta  rivers,  the  mountain 
stood,  a  solitary  island ;  white  and  flashing  like  a 
pyramid  of  silver !  solemn,  majestic  and  sublime ! 
Lonely  and  cold  and  white.  A  cloud  or  two  about 
his  brow,  sometimes  resting  there,  then  wreathed  and 
coiled  about,  then  blown  like  banners  streaming  in 
the  wind. 

I  had  lifted  my  hands  to  Mount  Hood,  uncovered 
my  head,  bowed  down  and  felt  unutterable  things, 
loved,  admired,  adored,  with  all  the  strength  of  an 
impulsive  and  passionate  young  heart.  But  he  who 
loves  and  worships  naturally  and  freely,  as  all  strong, 
true  souls  must  and  will  do,  loves  that  which  is  most 
magnificent  and  most  lovable  in  his  scope  of  vision. 
Hood  is  a  magnificent  idol ;  is  sufficient,  if  you  do  not 
see  Shasta. 

A  grander  or  a  lovelier  object  makes  shipwreck  of 
a  former  love.     This  is  sadly  so. 

Jealousy  is  born  of  an  instinctive  knowledge  of 
this  truth.  .  .  . 

Hood  is  rugged,  kingly,  majestic,  immortal !  But 
he  is  only  the  head  and  front  of  a  well-raised  family. 
He  is  not  alone  in  his  splendour.  Your  admiration 
is  divided  and  weakened.  Beyond  the  Columbia 
St.  Helen's  flashes  in  the  sun  in  summer  or  is  folded 
in  clouds  from  the  sea  in  winter.  On  either  hand 
Jefferson  and  Washington  divide  the  attention ;  then 
farther  away,  fair  as  a  stud  of  fallen  stars,  the  white 


30  SIIABO  WS  OF  SHASTA. 

Three  Sisters  are  grouped  together  about  the  foun- 
tain springs  of  the  Willamette  river ; — all  in  a  line — 
all  in  one  range  of  mountains ;  as  it  were,  mighty 
milestones  along  the  way  of  clouds  ! — marble  pillars 
pointing  the  road  to  God. 

Mount  Shasta  has  all  the  sublimity,  all  the 
strength,  majesty,  and  magnificence  of  Hood ;  yet  is 
so  alone,  unsupported,  and  solitary,  that  you  go 
down  before  him  utterly,  with  an  undivided  adora- 
tion— a  sympathy  for  his  loneliness  and  a  devotion 
for  his  valour — an  admiration  that  shall  pass  unchal- 
lenged. 

I  dismounted  and  stood  in  the  declining  sun,  hat  in 
hand,  and  looked  long  and  earnestly  across  the  sea  of 
clouds.  Now  and  then  long  strings  of  swans  went 
by  to  Klamat  lakes.  I  could  hear  them  calling  to 
each  other.  Far  and  faint  and  unearthly  their  echoes 
seemed,  and  were  as  sounds  that  had  lost  their  way, 
and  came  to  me  for  protection. 

I  looked  and  listened  long  but  uttered  not  a  sound ; 
strangely  mute  for  a  boy ;  but  exclamation  at  such  a 
time  is  a  sacrilege. 

At  last  I  threw  a  kiss  across  the  sea  of  clouds,  as 
the  red  banners  and  belts  of  gold  streamed  from  the 
summit  in  the  setting- sun,  and  turned,  took  up  my 
lariat,  mounted,  and  proceeded  down  the  mountain. 

Should  ever  your  fortune  lead  you  to  cross  the 
Chinese  wall  that  divides  the  people  of  Oregon  from 


SIIADO  WS  OF  SHASTA.  31 

the  people  of  California,  stop  at  the  Mountain  House 
and  ask  for  the  old  mountain  trail.  Take  the  direc- 
tion and  stop  at  the  top  of  what  is  called  the  first 
summit  of  the  Siskiyou  mountains,  for  there  you  will 
see  to  the  left  hand  by  the  trail  a  pile  of  rocks  high 
as  your  head,  put  there  to  mark  where  a  party  fell  a 
few  days  after    I  passed  the  place. 

Dismount  and  contribute  a  stone  to  the  monu- 
ment from  the  loose  rocks  that  lie  up  and  down  the 
trail.  It  is  a  pretty  Indian  custom  that  the  whites 
sometimes  adopt  and  cherish.  I  never  fail  to  ob- 
serve it  here,  for  this  spot  means  a  great  deal  to 
me. 

I  uncover  my  head,  take  up  a  stone  and  lay  it  on 
the  pile,  then  turn  my  face  to  Mount  Shasta  and  kiss 
my  hand,  for  the  want  of  some  better  expression. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

EL    VAQUEEO. 

^ESCENDING  the  mountain  range  that 
then  divided  California  from  Oregon,  I  fell 
in  with  a  sour,  flinty-faced  old  man,  with  a 
band  of  horses,  which  he  was  driving  to  the  lower 
settlements  of  California.  He  was  short  of  help, 
and  proposed  to  take  me  into  his  employ  for  the 
round  trip,  promising  to  pay  me  whatever  my 
services  were  worth.  Glad  of  an  opportunity  to  do 
something  at  least  in  a  new  land,  I  scarcely  thought 
of  the  consideration,  but  eagerly  accepted  his  offer, 
and  was  enrolled  as  a  vaquero  along  with  a  motley 
set  of  half  Indians  from  the  north,  and  Mexicans 
from  the  south. 

Our  duties  were  light,  and  the  employment  pleas- 
ant and  congenial  to  my  nature.  It  was,  in  fact, 
about  the  only  thing  I  was  then  fit  for  in  that  strange 
new  country,  boiling  and  surging  with  hosts  of  strong 
men,  rushing  hither  and  thither  in  search  of  gold. 

Our  work  consisted  in  keeping  the  saddle  eight  or 

32 


CONTENTS.  XV 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

MY   MISSION    OP    PEACE. 

A  Warm  Reception— Real  Freedom— Why  Wars  Continue— No  Ex- 
cuse for  A  Soldier — An  Appeal  to  God  as  Higher  Authority — Re- 
sponsibility of  Poets  and  Historians— Again  purchasing  Ammunition — 
Watched — Stratagem  and  Escape — The  Pursuit — Wounding  my 
Horse — Procuring  Another— In  Camp — Taken  Prisoner 362 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

DEATH   OF   PAQUITA. 

In  Prison — A  Noble  Lawyer — A  Night  Call — Paquita  to  the  Rescue — 
The  True  Savage  Heroine — A  Week's  Work — Released  and  Free — To 
the  Mountains — A  Curse  on  the  City — Shasta  City  of  To-Day — Swim- 
ming Rivers — The  Sacramento — Pitt  River — An  Ambuscade — A  Des- 
perate Leap — A  Struggle  for  Life — A  Shower  of  Bullets — Cool  and 
deliberate  Murder — The  Dying  Girl — My  Poor  Paquita — Dead !  Dead 
—Alas!  Alas!  Paquita 375 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  LAST  BATTLE  FOR  THE  REPUBLIC. 

A  Funeral  Pile— The  "Tale  of  the  Tall  Alcade  "—Arrival  at  the  Indian 
Camp — Mourning  and  Lamentations — A  General  Despondency — 
Carrying  the  War  into  Africa — Premeditated  Attack  on  Yreka — A 
Visit  to  the  City — A  Settler's  Home — Among  Christians — A  Compari- 
son— Yreka  Defenceless — Yielding  to  Compassion — A  Council  of 
War— A  Wrong  Decision— Indian  Belief  in  the  gift  of  Prophecy — 
Klamat  Paints  his  Face  Black — Victory  or  Death — He  Reveals  a  Se- 
cret—The Doctor  Vindicated— A  Battle— Death  of  Klamat— The 
Reservation  or  Annihilation — The  New  Republic  Gone — An  Indian 
Chiefs  Gift— Away  to  Nicaragua 390 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AFTER    A   DOZEN   YEARS. 

Return  to  my  Old  Home — The  Stage  Coach— A  Nervous  Man's  remark, 
and  the  Answer — "  How's  that  for  High  !  " — Mount  Shasta  Once 
More— "Limber  Jim"— P.  Archibald  Brown,  alias  Ginger— Effects  of 
Hanging,  on  the  Nerves— An  Empty  Village— Blind  Pits— Indian 
Girls — A  Popular  Delusion — Indians  getting  Civilized — Arrival  at 
Camp— An  Indian  Welcome— A  Great  Talk— Sad  Stories— Indian 
Eloquence 405 


XVI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE   LAST    OF   THE    CHILDREN    OF    SHASTA. 

Reflections — A  Little  Brown  Girl — A  Secret — A  Search  for  the  Maid- 
en— The  Maiden  and  her  Mother — A  Last  Farewell — A  Battle  in  my 
Heart — A  Visit  to  the  Doctor — Noble  old  Man — Self  Forgetfulness — 
A  Promise  Made — My  New  Home — Little  "  Calli  Shasta" — The 
••  Prince" — Peace  and  Happiness — The  Prince's  History — Plain 
James  Thompson,  yet  still  a  Prince — My  Regrets — Return  to  the 
World — Origin  of  "  The  Modoc  War  " — Captain  Jack — The  Reserva- 
tion— A  Night  Onslaught — The  Peace  Commissioners — Following  an 
Example — Undoubted  Courage  and  heroic  Deeds—  Honesty  toward 
the  Indians— The  Day  of  Judgment — A  New  Thermopylae—"  Calli 
Shasta"— At  School  in  San  Francisco— Whose  Child  is  She?— What 
the  Press  say — A  Possible  Joke — What  will  become  of  Her? — The 
Last  of  the  Children  of  Shasta 419 


EL   VAQUERO.  33 

ten  hours  a  day,  leading  or  following  after  the  horses, 
camping  under  the  trees,  and  now  and  then  keeping 
alternate  watch  over  the  stock  by  night. 

We  were  miserably  fed,  and  half  frozen  while  in 
the  mountains,  but  we  soon  descended  into  the  quiet 
Sacramento  valley,  where  the  nights  are  warm  with 
perpetual  summer. 

The  old  drover,  whose  great  vice  was  avarice, 
quarrelled  with  his  men  at  Los  Angelos,  whither  he 
had  gone  to  get  a  herd  of  Mexican  horses  after  dis- 
posing of  the  American  stock,  to  take  with  him  on 
the  back  trip,  and  only  escaped  by  adroitly  suing 
out  warrants,  and  leaving  them  all  there  in 
goal  for  threatening  his  life.  The  cause  of  the 
trouble  was  the  old  man's  avarice.  He  had  made  a 
loose  contract  with  the  roving  vaqueros,  and  on 
settlement  refused  to  pay  them  scarcely  a  tithe  of 
their  earnings.  I  remained  with  him.  We  returned 
to  the  north  with  a  great  herd  of  half-wild  horses, 
driven  by  a  band  of  almost  perfectly  wild  men  :  men 
of  all  nationalities  and  conditions,  though  chiefly 
Mexicans,  all  anxious  to  reach  the  rich  mines  of  the 
north. 

Drovers  in  this  country  always  leave  the  line  of 
travel  and  all  frequented  roads  that  they  may  obtain 
fresh  grass  for  their  stock.  In  the  long,  long  journey 
north  we  passed  through  many  tribes  of  Indians,  and 
except   in   the   mountains,    I    noticed    that    all   the 


34  EL   VAQTJERO. 

Indians  from  Southern  to  Northern  California  were 
low,  shiftless,  indolent,  and  cowardly.  The  moment 
we  touched  the  mountains  we  seemed  to  touch  a  new 
current  of  blood. 

The  old  man  left  his  motley  army  of  vaqueros 
mostly  to  me,  and  I  was  practically  captain  of  the 
caravan.  Not  unfrequently,  of  a  morning,  we  would 
find  ourselves  short  of  a  Mexican,  who  had  disappear- 
ed in  the  night  with  one  of  the  best  horses.  Some- 
times  in  the  daytime  these  men  would  get  sulky  and 
cross  with  the  cold  and  cruel  old  master,  and  ride  off 
before  his  face.  These  men  would  have  to  be  re- 
placed by  others,  picked  up  here  and  there,  of  a  still 
more  questionable  character. 

We  reached  Northern  California  after  a  long  and 
lonely  journey,  through  wild  and  fertile  valleys,  with 
only  the  smoke  of  wigwams  curling  from  the  fringe 
of  trees  that  hemmed  them  in,  or  from  the  river  bank 
that  cleft  the  little  Edens  to  disprove  the  fancy  that 
here  might  have  been  the  Paradise  and  here  the  scene 
of  the  expulsion. 

We  crossed  flashing  rivers,  still  white  and  clear, 
that  since  have  become  turbid  yellow  pools  with 
barren  banks  of  boulders,  shorn  of  their  overhanging 
foliage,  and  drained  of  flood  by  ditches  that  the 
resolute  miner  has  led  even  around  the  mountain 
tops. 

On  entering  Pit  River  Valley  we  met  with  thou- 


EL   VAQTJERO.  35 

sands  of  Indians,  gathered  there  for  the  purpose  of 
fishing,  perhaps,  but  they  kindly  assisted  us  across 
the  two  branches  of  the  river,  and  gave  no  signs  of 
ill-will 

We  pushed  far  up  the  valley  in  the  direction  of 
Yreka,  and  there  pitched  camp,  for  the  old  man 
wished  to  recruit  his  horses  on  the  rich  meadows  of 
wild  grass  before  driving  them  to  town  for  market. 

We  camped  against  a  high  spur  of  a  long  timbered 
hill,  that  terminated  abruptly  at  the  edge  of  the  val- 
ley. A  clear  stream  of  water  full  of  trout,  with  wil- 
low-lined banks,  wound  through  the  length  of  the 
narrow  valley,  entirely  hidden  in  the  long  grass  and 
leaning  willows. 

The  Pit  River  Indians  did  not  visit  us  here,  neither 
did  the  Modocs,  and  we  began  to  hope  we  were  en- 
tirely hidden,  in  the  deep  narrow  little  valley,  from 
all  Indians,  both  friendly  and  unfriendly,  until  one 
evening  some  young  men,  calling  themselves  Shastas, 
came  into  the  camp.  They  were  very  friendly,  how- 
ever, were  splendid  horsemen,  and  assisted  to  bring 
in  and  corral  the  horses  like  old  vaqueros. 

Our  force  was  very  small,  in  fact  we  had  then 
less  than  half-a-dozen  men  ;  and  the  old  man,  for  a  day 
or  two,  employed  two  of  these  young  fellows  to  attend 
and  keep  watch  about  the  horses.  One  morning 
three  of  our  vaqueros  mounted  and  rode  off,  cursing 
my  sour  old  master  for  some  real  or  fancied  wrong, 


36  EL   VAQTJERO. 

and  then  lie  had  but  one  white  person  with  him 
beside  myself,  so  that  the  two  young  Indians  had  to 
be  retained. 

Some  weeks  wore  on  pleasantly  enough,  when  we 
began  to  prepare  to  strike  camp  for  Yreka.  Thus  far 
we  had  not  seen  the  sign  of  a  Modoc  Indian. 

It  was  early  in  the  morning.  The  rising  sun  was 
streaming  up  the  valley,  through  the  fringe  of  fir  and 
cedar  trees.  The  Indian  boys  and  I  had  just  return- 
ed from  driving  the  herd  of  horses  a  little  way  down 
the  stream.  The  old  man  and  his  companion  were 
sitting  at  breakfast,  with  their  backs  to  the  high  bare 
wall  with  its  crown  of  trees.  The  Indians  were 
taking  our  saddle-horses  across  the  little  stream  to 
tether  them  there  on  fresh  grass,  and  I  was  walking 
idly  towards  the  camp,  only  waiting  for  my  tawny 
young  companions.     Crack  !  crash  !  thud  !  ! 

The  two  men  fell  on  their  faces  and  never  uttered 
a  word.  Indians  were  running  down  the  little  lava 
mountain  side,  with  bows  and  rifles  in  their  hands, 
and  the  hanging,  rugged  brow  of  the  hill  was  curling 
in  smoke.  The  Ben  Wright  tragedy  was  bearing  its 
fruits. 

I  started  to  run,  and  ran  with  all  my  might  towards 
where  I  had  left  the  Indian  boys.  I  remember  dis- 
tinctly thinking  how  cowardly  it  was  to  run  and  de- 
sert the  wounded  men,  with  the  Indians  upon  them, 
and  I  also  remember  thinking  that  when  I  got  to  the 


AT  A  DISADVANTAGE. 


EL   VAQUERO.  37 

first  bank  of  willows  I  would  turn  and  fire,  for  I  had 
laid  hold  of  the  pistol  in  my  belt,  and  could  have 
fired,  and  should  have  done  so,  but  I  was  thoroughly 
frightened,  and  no  doubt  if  I  had  succeeded  in  reach- 
ing the  willows  I  would  have  thought  it  best  to  go 
still  further  before  turning  about. 

How  rapidly  one  thinks  at  such  a  time,  and  how 
distinctly  one  remembers  every  thought. 

All  this,  however,  was  but  a  flash,  the  least  part  of 
an  instant.  Some  mounted  Indians  that  had  been 
stationed  up  the  valley  darted  out  at  the  first  shot, 
and  one  of  them  was  upon  me  before  I  saw  him,  for 
I  was  only  concerned  with  the  Indians  pouring  down 
the  little  hill  out  of  the  smoke  into  the  camp. 

I  was  struck  down  by  a  club,  or  some  hard  heavy 
object,  maybe  the  pole  of  a  hatchet,  possibly  only  a 
horse's  hoof,  as  he  plunged  in  the  air. 

When  I  recovered,  which  must  have  been  some 
minutes  after,  an  Indian  was  rolling  me  over  and 
pulling  at  the  red  Mexican  sash  around  my  waist. 
He  was  a  powerful  savage,  painted  red,  half -naked, 
and  held  a  war-club  in  his  hand.  I  clutched  tight 
around  one  of  his  naked  legs  with  both  my  arms. 
He  tried  to  shake  me  off,  but  I  only  clutched  the 
tighter.  I  looked  up,  and  his  terrible  face  almost 
froze  my  blood.  I  relaxed  my  hold  from  want  of 
strength.  I  shut  my  eyes,  expecting  the  war-club 
to  crash  through  my  brain  and  end  the  matter  at 


3S  EL  VAQUEBO. 

once,  but  he  only  laughed,  as  much  as  an  Indian  ever 
allows  himself  to  laugh,  and  winding  the  red  sash 
around  him  strode  down  the  valley. 

My  pistol  was  gone.  I  crept  through  the  grass 
into  the  stream,  then  down  the  stream  to  where  it 
nearly  touched  the  forest,  and  climbed  over  and  slip- 
ped into  the  wood. 

From  the  timber  rim  I  looked  back,  but  could  see 
nothing  whatever.  The  band  of  horses  was  gone, 
the  Indians  had  disappeared.  All  was  still.  It  was 
truly  the  stillness  of  death. 

The  Indian  boys,  my  companions,  had  escaped  with 
the  ponies  into  the  wood,  and  I  stole  up  the  edge  of 
the  forest  till  I  struck  their  trail,  and  following  on  a 
little  way,  weak  and  bewildered,  I  met  them  stealing 
back  on  foot  to  my  assistance. 

My  mind  and  energy  both  now  seemed  to  give  way. 
We  reached  the  Indian  camp  somehow,  but  I  have 
but  a  vague  and  shadowy  recollection  of  what  passed 
during  the  next  few  weeks.  For  the  most  part,  as 
far  as  I  remember,  I  sat  by  the  lodges  or  under  the 
trees,  or  rode  a  little,  but  never  summoned  spirit  or 
energy  to  return  to  the  fatal  camp. 

I  asked  the  Indians  to  go  down  and  see  what  had 
become  of  the  two  bodies,  but  they  would  not  think 
of  it.  This  was  quite  natural,  since  they  will  not 
revisit  their  own  camp  after  being  driven  from  it  by 
an  enemy,  until  it  is  first  visited  by  their  priest  or 


EL    VAQTJERO.  39 

medicine  man,  who  chaunts  the  death-song  and 
appeases  the  angered  spirit  that  has  brought  the 
calamity  upon  them.  The  Indian  camp  was  a 
small  one,  and  made  up  mostly  of  women  and  chil- 
dren. It  was  in  a  vine-maple  thicket,  on  the  bend  of 
a  small  stream  called  by  the  Indians  Ki-yi-mem,  or 
white  water.  By  the  whites  I  think  it  is  now  called 
Milk  Creek.  A  singular  stream  it  is ;  sometimes  it 
flows  very  full,  and  then  is  nearly  dry ;  sometimes  it 
is  almost  white  with  ashes  and  fine  sand,  and  then  it 
is  perfectly  clear  with  a  beautiful  white  sand  border 
and  bottom.  The  Indians  say,  that  it  is  also  some- 
times so  hot  as  to  burn  the  hand,  and  then  again  is  as 
cold  as  the  McCloud ;  but  this  last  phenomenon  I 
never  witnessed.  The  changes,  however,  whatever 
they  are,  are  caused  by  some  internal  volcanic  action 
of  Mount  Shasta,  from  which  the  stream  flows  in 
great  springs. 

The  camp  was  but  a  temporary  one,  and  pitched 
here  for  the  purpose  of  gathering  and  drying  a  sort 
of  mountain  camas  root  from  the  low  marshy  springs  of 
this  region.  This  camas  is  a  bulbus  root  shaped  much 
like  an  onion,  and  is  prepared  for  food  by  roasting  in 
the  ground,  and  is  very  nutritious.  Sometimes  it  is 
kneaded  into  cakes  and  dried.  In  this  state  if  kept 
diy  it  will  retain  its  sweetness  and  fine  properties  for 
months. 

I  could  not  have  been  treated  more  kindly  even  at 


40  EL   VAQUERO. 

home.  But  Indian  life  and  Indian  diet  are  hardly 
suited  to  restore  a  shattered  nervous  system  and  or- 
ganization so  delicate  as  my  own,  and  I  got  on  slowly. 
Perhaps  after  all  I  only  needed  rest,  and  it  is  quite 
likely  the  Indians  saw  this,  for  rest  I  certainly  had, 
such  as  I  never  had  before  or  since.  It  was  as  near 
a  life  of  nothingness  down  there  in  the  deep  forest  as 
one  well  could  imagine.  There  were  no  birds  in  the 
thicket  about  the  camp,  and  you  even  had  to  go  out 
and  climb  a  little  hill  to  get  the  sun. 

This  hill  sloped  off  to  the  south  with  the  woods 
open  like  a  park,  and  here  the  children  and  some 
young  women  sported  noiselessly  or  basked  in  the 
sun. 

If  there  is  any  place  outside  of  the  tomb  that  can 
be  stiller  than  an  Indian  camp  when  stillness  is  re- 
quired, I  do  not  know  where  it  is.  Here  was  a  camp 
made  up  mostly  of  children,  and  what  is  usually  called 
the  most  garrulous  half  of  mankind,  and  yet  all  was 
so  still  that  the  deer  often  walked  stately  and  uncon- 
scious into  our  midst. 

No  mention  was  made  of  my  going  away  or  re- 
maining. I  was  permitted  as  far  as  the  Indians  were 
concerned  to  forget  my  existence,  and  so  I  dreamed 
along  for  a  month  or  two  and  began  to  get  strong 
and  active  in  mind  and  body. 

I  had  dreamed  a  long  dream,  and  now  began  to 
waken    and  think  of  active  life.     I  began  to   hunt 


EL   VAQUEIW.  41 

and  take  part  with  the  Indians,  and  enter  into  their 
delights  and  their  sorrows. 

Did  the  world  ever  stop  to  consider  how  an  Indian 
who  has  no  theatre,  no  saloon,  no  whisky  shop,  no 
parties,  no  newspaper,  not  one  of  all  our  hundreds 
of  ways  and  means  of  amusement,  spends  his  evening  ? 
Think  of  this  !  He  is  a  human  being,  full  of  passion 
and  of  poetry.  His  soul  must  find  some  expression  ; 
his  heart  some  utterance.  The  long,  long  nights  of 
darkness,  without  any  lighted  city  to  walk  about  in, 
or  books  to  read.  Think  of  that !  Well,  all  this 
mind,  or  thought,  or  soul,  or  whatever  it  may  be, 
which  we  scatter  in  so  many  directions,  and  on  so 
many  things,  they  centre  on  one  or  two. 

What  if  I  told  you  that  they  talk  more  of  the 
future  and  know  more  of  the  unknown  than  the 
Christian  ?  That  would  shock  you.  Truth  is  a 
great  galvanic  battery. 

No  wonder  they  die  so  bravely,  and  care  so  little 
for  this  life,  when  they  are  so  certain  of  the  next. 

After  a  time  we  moved  camp  to  a  less  dangerous 
quarter,  and  out  into  the  open  wood.  I  now  took 
rides  daily  or  hunted  bear  or  deer  with  the  Indians. 
Yet  all  this  time  I  had  a  sort  of  regretful  idea  that 
I  must  return  to  the  white  people  and  give  some 
account  of  what  had  happened.  Then  I  reflected 
how  inglorious  a  part  I  had  borne,  how  long  I  had 
remained  with  the  Indians,  though  for  no  fault  of 


42  EL   VAQUERO. 

my  own,  and  instinctively  knew  the  virtue  of  silence 
on  the  subject. 

In  this  new  camp  I  seemed  to  come  fully  to  my 
strength.  I  took  in  the  situation  and  the  scenery 
and  began  to  observe,  to  think,  and  reflect. 

Here,  for  the  first  time,  I  found  myself  alone  in 
an  Indian  camp  without  any  obligation  or  anything 
whatever  binding  me  or  calling  me  back  to  the 
Saxon.  I  began  to  look  on  the  romantic  side  of  my 
life,  and  was  not  displeased.  I  put  aside  the  little 
trouble  of  the  old  camp  and  became  as  careless  as  a 
child. 

The  wood  seemed  very  very  beautiful.  The  air 
was  so  rich,  so  soft  and  pure  in  the  Indian  summer, 
that  it  almost  seemed  that  you  could  feed  upon  it. 
The  antlered  deer,  fat,  and  tame  almost  as  if  fed 
in  parks,  stalked  by,  and  game  of  all  kinds  filled 
the  woods  in  herds.  We  hunted,  rode,  fished  and 
rested  beside  the  rivers. 

What  a  fragrance  from  the  long  and  bent  fir  boughs. 
What  a  healthy  breath  of  pine  !  All  the  long  sweet 
moonlight  nights  the  magnificent  forest,  warm  and 
mellow-like  from  sunshine  gone  away,  gave  out 
odours  like  burnt  incense  from  censers  swinging  in 
some  mighty  cathedral. 

If  I  were  to  look  back  over  the  chart  of  my  life  for 
happiness,  I  should  locate  it  here  if  anywhere.  It  is 
true  that  there  was  a  little  cast  of  concern  in  all  this 


EL   VAQUERO.  43 

about  the  future,  and  some  remorse  for  wasted  time  ; 
and  my  life,  I  think,  partook  of  the  Indian's  melan- 
choly, which  comes  of  solitude  and  too  much  thought, 
but  the  memory  of  these  few  weeks  always  appeals 
to  my  heart,  and  strikes  me  with  a  peculiar  gentleness 
and  uncommon  delight. 

The  Indians  were  not  at  war  with  the  whites,  nor 
were  they  particularly  at  peace.  In  fact,  they  assert 
that  there  has  never  been  any  peace  since  they  or 
their  fathers  can  remember.  The  various  tribes, 
sometimes  at  war,  were  also  then  at  peace,  so  that 
nothing  whatever  occurred  to  break  the  calm  repose 
of  the  golden  autumn. 

The  mountain  streams  went  foaming  down  among 
the  boulders  between  the  leaning  walls  of  yew  and 
cedar  trees  toward  the  Sacramento.  The  partridge 
whistled  and  called  his  flock  together  when  the  sun 
went  down ;  the  brown  pheasants  rustled  as  they  ran 
in  strings  through  the  long  brown  grass,  but  nothing 
else  was  heard.  The  Indians,  always  silent,  are  un- 
usually so  in  autumn.  The  majestic  march  of  the  sea- 
son seems  to  make  them  still.  They  moved  like 
shadows.  The  conflicts  of  civilization  were  be- 
neath us.  ISTo  sound  of  strife ;  the  struggle  for  the 
possession  of  usurped  lands  was  far  away,  and  I 
was  glad,  glad  as  I  shall  never  be  again.  I  know  I 
should  weary  you,  to  linger  here  and  detail  the  life 
we  led ;  but  as  for  myself  I  shall  never  cease  to  re- 


U  EL  VAQUEEO. 

live  this  life.     Here  I  go  for  rest  when  I  cannot  rest 
elsewhere. 

With  nothing  whatever  to  do  but  learn  their 
language  and  their  manners,  I  made  fast  progress, 
and  without  any  particular  purpose  at  first,  I  soon 
found  myself  in  possession  of  that  which,  in  the 
hands  of  a  man  of  culture  would  be  of  great 
value.  I  saw  then  how  little  we  know  of  the 
Indian.  I  had  read  some  flaming  picture  books  of 
Indian  life,  and  I  had  mixed  all  my  life  more  or  less 
with  the  Indians,  that  is,  such  as  are  willing  to  mix 
with  us  on  the  border,  but  the  real  Indian,  the 
brave,  simple,  silent  and  thoughtful  Indian  who 
retreats  from  the  white  man  when  he  can,  and  fights 
when  he  must,  I  had  never  before  seen  or  read  a 
line  about.  I  had  never  even  heard  of  him.  Few 
have.  Perhaps  ten  years  from  now  the  red  man,  as 
I  found  him  there  in  the  forests  of  his  fathers,  shall 
not  be  found  anywhere  on  earth.  I  am  now  certain 
that  if  I  had  been  a  man,  or  even  a  clever  wide-awake 
boy,  with  any  particular  business  with  the  Indians,  I 
might  have  spent  years  in  the  mountains,  and  known 
no  more  of  these  people  than  others  know.  But  lost 
as  I  was,  and  a  dreamer,  too  ignorant  of  danger  to 
fear,  they  sympathized  with  me,  took  me  into  their  in- 
ner life,  told  me  their  traditions,  and  sometimes  show- 
ed me  the  u  Indian  question  "  from  an  Indian  point  of 
view. 


EL  VAQTJERO.  45 

After  mingling  with  these  people  for  some  months, 
I  began  to  say  to  myself,  Why  cannot  they  be  per- 
mitted to  remain  here  ?  Let  this  region  be  untrav- 
ersed  and  untouched  by  the  Saxon.  Let  this  be  a 
great  national  park  peopled  by  the  Indian  only.  I 
saw  the  justice  of  this,  but  did  not  at  that  time  con- 
ceive the  possibility  of  it. 

No  man  leaps  full-grown  into  the  world.  No 
great  plan  bursts  into  full  and  complete  magnificence 
and  at  once  upon  the  mind.  Nor  does  any  one  sud- 
denly become  this  thing  or  that.  A  combination  of 
circumstances,  a  long  chain  of  reverses  that  refuses  to 
be  broken,  carries  men  far  down  in  the  scale  of  life, 
without  any  fault  whatever  of  theirs.  A  similar  but 
less  frequent  chain  of  good  fortune  lifts  others  up 
into  the  full  light  of  the  sun.  Circumstances  which 
few  see,  and  fewer  still  understand,  fashion  the  desti- 
nies of  nearly  all  the  active  men  of  the  plastic  west. 
The  world  watching  the  gladiators  from  its  high  seat 
in  the  circus  will  never  reverse  its  thumbs  against  the 
successful  man.  Therefore,  succeed,  and  have  the  ap- 
proval of  the  world.  Nay  !  what  is  far  better,  deserve 
to  succeed,  and  have  the  approval  of  your  own  con- 
science. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE. 


IgSyJP  NOW  stood  face  to  face  with  the  outposts 

)gk   of  the  great  events  of  my  life.     Here  were  the 

¥^   tawny  people  with  whom   I    was   to   mingle. 

There  loomed  Mount  Shasta,  with  which  my  name, 

if    remembered  at  all,  will  be  remembered.      I  had 

not  sought  this.     I    did   not   dream  even  then  that 

I  should    mix    with    these    people,  or   linger  longer 

here  in  the  shadows  of  Shasta  than  I  had  lingered 

in  camps  before. 

I    visited    many  of    the    Indian  villages,  where  I 

received  nothing  but  kindness  and  hospitality.    They 

had  never  before  seen  so  young  a  white  man.     The 

Indian  mothers  were  particularly  kind.     My  tattered 

clothes  were  replaced  by  soft  brown  buckskins,  which 

they  almost  forced  me  to  accept.      I  was  not  only 

told  that  I  was  welcome,  and  that   they  were  glad 

to    see   me,  but    I    was  made  to  feel  that  this  was 

the    case.     Their    men    were    manly,    tall,    graceful. 

Their   women    were    beautiful    in    their    wild    and 

46 


THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE.  47 

natural,  simple  and  savage  beauty  beyond  anything 
I  have  since  seen,  and  I  have  gone  well-nigh  the  cir- 
cuit of  the  earth  since  I  first  pitched  camp  at  the  base 
of  Shasta. 

I  came  to  sympathize  thoroughly  with  the  Indians. 
Perhaps,  if  I  had  been  in  a  pleasant  home,  had  friends, 
or  even  had  the  strength  of  will  and  capacity  to  lay 
hold  of  the  world,  and  enter  the  conflict  successfully, 
I  might  have  thought  much  as  others  thought,  and 
done  as  others  have  done ;  but  I  was  a  gipsy,  and 
had  no  home.  I  did  not  fear  or  shun  toil,  but  I  de- 
spised the  treachery,  falsehood,  and  villany,  practised 
in  the  struggle  for  wealth,  and  kept  as  well  out  of  it 
as  I  could. 

All  these  old  ideas  of  mine  seem  very  singular  now 
for  one  so  young.  Yet  it  appears  to  me  I  always  had 
them;  may  be,  I  was  born  with  a  nature  that  did 
not  fit  into  the  moulds  of  other  minds.  At  all  events, 
I  began  to  think  very  early  for  myself,  and  nearly 
always  as  incorrectly  as  possible.  Even  at  the  time 
mentioned  I  had  some  of  the  thoughts  of  a  man  ;  and 
at  the  present  time,  perhaps,  I  have  many  of  the 
thoughts  of  a  child.  My  life  on  horseback  and  among 
herds  from  the  time  I  was  old  enough  to  ride  a  horse, 
had  made  me  even  still  more  thoughtful  and  solitary 
than  was  my  nature,  so  that  on  some  things  I  thought 
a  great  deal,  or  rather  observed,  while  on  others — 
practical  things — I  never  bestowed  a  moment's  time. 


48  TIIE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE. 

I  had  never  been  a  boy,  that  is,  an  orthodox,  old- 
fashioned  boy,  for  I  never  played  in  my  life.  Games 
of  ball,  marbles,  and  the  like,  are  to  me  still  mys- 
terious as  the  rites  in  a  Pagan  temple.  I  then  knew 
nothing  at  all  of  men.  Cattle  and  horses  I  under- 
stand thoroughly.  But  somehow  I  could  not  under- 
stand or  get  on  with  my  fellow  man.  He  seemed  to 
always  want  to  cheat  me — to  get  my  labour  for 
nothing.  I  could  appreciate  and  enter  into  the  heart 
of  an  Indian.  Perhaps  it  was  because  he  was  natural ; 
a  child  of  nature ;  nearer  to  God  than  the  white  man. 
I  think  what  I  most  needed  in  order  to  understand, 
get  on  and  not  be  misunderstood,  was  a  long  time  at 
school,  where  my  rough  points  could  be  ground  down. 
The  schoolmaster  should  have  taken  me  between  his 
thumb  and  finger  and  rubbed  me  about  till  I  was  as 
smooth  and  as  round  as  the  others.  Then  I  should 
have  been  put  out  in  the  society  of  other  smooth 
pebbles,  and  rubbed  and  ground  against  them  till  I 
got  as  smooth  and  pointless  as  they.  You  must  not 
have  points  or  anything  about  you  singular  or  notice- 
able if  you  would  get  on.  You  must  be  a  pebble,  a 
smooth,  quiet  pebble.  Be  a  big  pebble  if  you  can,  a 
small  pebble  if  you  must.  But  be  a  pebble  just  like 
the  rest,  cold,  and  hard,  and  sleek,  and  smooth,  and 
you  are  all  right.  But  I  was  as  rough  as  the  lava 
rocks  I  roamed  over,  as  broken  as  the  mountains  I  in- 
habited ;  neither  a  man  nor  a  boy. 


THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE.  49 

How  I  am  running  on  about  myself,  and  yet  how 
pleasant  is  this  forbidden  fruit !  The  world  says  you 
must  not  talk  of  yourself.  The  world  is  a  tyrant. 
The  world  no  sooner  discovered  that  the  most  de- 
lightful of  all  things  was  the  pleasure  of  talking  about 
one's  self,  even  more  delightful  than  talking  about 
one's  neighbour,  than  straightway  the  world,  with 
the  wits  to  back  it,  pronounced  against  the  use  of 
this  luxury. 

Who  knows  but  it  is  a  sort  of  desire  for  revenge 
against  mankind  for  forbidding  us  to  talk  as  much  as 
we  like  about  ourselves,  that  makes  us  so  turn  upon 
and  talk  about  our  neighbours. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  I  know  very  well  that  if  all 
men  were  permitted  to  talk  about  themselves  as 
much  as  they  liked,  they  would  not  talk  so  much 
about  their  neighbors.     They  would  not  have  time. 

Even  ages  ago,  whenever  any  man  dared  come  out 
and  talk  freely,  naturally  and  fully  as  he  desired 
about  himself,  the  wits  nailed  him  to  the  wall  with 
their  shafts  of  irony,  until  the  last  man  was  driven 
from  the  green  and  leafy  Eden  of  egotism,  and  no 
one  has  yet  had  courage  to  attempt  to  retake  it. 

Now  I  like  this  great  big  letter  "  I,"  standing  out 
boldly  alone  like  a  soldier  at  his  post.  It  is  a  sort 
of  granite  pillar,  it  seems  to  me,  set  up  at  each  mile, 
even  every  quarter  if  you  like,  to  face  you,  to  be 
familiar,  to  talk  to  you  as  you  proceed,  without  an 


50  THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE. 

interpreter    or    the   intervention   of   a  third   party. 

Modest  Caesar!  The  man  who  writes  of  a  third 
person  when  he  means  the  first  is  a  falsehood.  The 
man  who  says  "  we  "  when  he  means  "  I,"  is  a  coward, 
and  afraid  to  go  alone.  He  winces  before  the  wits, 
and  takes  shelter  behind  the  back  of  another  person. 
I  wonld  rather  see  a  man  stand  up  like  Homer's 
heroes,  or  a  North  American  Indian,  and  tell  all  his 
deeds  of  valour  and  the  deeds  of  all  his  ancestors 
even  back  to  the  tenth  generation,  than  this. 

I  despise  this  contemptible  little  wishy-washy 
editorial  "  we."  The  truth  is,  it  is  ten  times  more 
pompous  than  the  bold  naked  soldier-like  "I." 
Besides,  it  has  the  disadvantage  of  being  a  falsehood ; 
a  slight,  slight  disadvantage  in  this  age,  it  is  true,  but 
still  a  disadvantage. 

I  edited  a  little  paper  once  for  a  brief  period.  I 
was  owner,  editor,  and  proprietor.  This  was  dis- 
tinctly stated  at  the  head  of  the  first  column  of  the 
paper.  It  would  have  been  clear  to  all,  even  had  I 
desired  to  take  shelter  under  the  editorial  "we," 
that  its  use  was  a  naked  and  notorious  falsehood.  I 
was  young  then.  I  knew  nothing  of  civilization. 
My  education  had  been  greatly  neglected,  and  I 
could  not  lie.  I  stood  up  the  great  big  pronoun  on 
the  paper  as  thick  as  pickets  around  a  garden  fence. 
The  publication  died  soon  after,  it  is  true,  but  this 
proves  nothing  against  the  use  of  the  great  and 
popular  pronoun. 


THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE.  51 

Winter  was  now  approaching ;  and  while  I  should 
have  been  welcome  with  the  Indians  to  the  end, 
I  preferred  to  consider  my  stay  with  them  in  the 
light  of  a  visit,  and  decided  to  go  on  to  Yreka  (a 
mining  camp  then  grown  to  the  dignity  of  a  city),  and 
try  my  fortune  in  the  mines. 

It  was  unsafe  to  venture  out  alone,  if  not  impossible 
to  find  the  way ;  but  the  two  young  men  who  had 
assisted  as  vaqueros  in  the  valley  set  out  with  me 
and  led  the  way  till  we  touched  the  trail  leading  from 
Ked  Bluffs  to  Yreka  on  the  eastern  spurs  of  Mount 
Shasta.  Here  they  took  a  tender  farewell,  turned 
back,  and  I  never  saw  them  again.  They  were 
murdered  before  I  returned  to  their  village. 

The  facts  of  the  cruel  assassinations  are  briefly 
these.  The  following  summer  the  young  men  went 
down  into  Pit  River  Valley,  then  filling  up  rapidly 
with  white  settlers,  and  there  took  to  themselves 
wives  from  the  Pit  River  tribe,  with  whom  the 
Shastas  were  on  the  best  of  terms. 

These  young  fellows  had  a  fondness  for  the  whites, 
and  were  very  frequently  about  the  settlements. 
They  finally  made  a  camp  near  some  men  who  were 
making  hay,  and  put  in  their  time  and  supported 
themselves  by  hunting  and  fishing,  at  the  same  time 
keeping  up  friendly  relations  with  the  whites  by 
liberal  donations  of  game. 

One   day  one   of  these   Indians,  with  his   young 


52  THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE. 

wife,  went  out  among  the  hay  makers,  and  while  he 
was  standing  there,  watching  the  men  at  work,  two 
men  came  np  from  a  neighbouring  part  of  the  prairie 
and  shot  him  down  in  cold  blood,  saying  only  that 
they  knew  him  and  that  he  was  "a  damned  bad 
Injun." 

This  is,  or  was  at  that  time,  considered  quite  suffi- 
cient excuse  for  taking  an  Indian's  life  on  the  Pacific. 
They  hid  the  body  under  a  haycock,  and  Carried  his 
young  and  terrified  wife  to  their  camp. 

That  evening  the  other  Indian,  returning  from  the 
hills,  came  to  look  after  his  companion.  The  two  men 
told  him  they  would  show  him  where  he  was ;  and 
the  young  man,  still  unsuspicious,  walked  out  with 
them;  but  when  near  the  hayfield  one  of  the  two, 
who  had  fallen  behind,  shot  him  in  the  back. 

The  Indian  was  good  mettle,  however,  and  for  the 
first  time  discerning  the  treachery,  sprang  forward 
upon  the  other  now  a  little  in  advance  and  brought 
him  to  the  ground.  But  the  poor  boy  had  been 
mortally  shot,  and  died  almost  instantly  after. 

The  plain  cold  truth  of  the  matter  is  these  men 
had  seen  the  two  young  Indian  women,  wanted  them, 
and  got  them  after  this  manner,  as  did  others  in 
similar  ways,  and  no  one  said  nay. 

This  account  I  had  from  the  lips  of  one  of  the  very 
two  men  alluded  to.  His  name  is  Fowler.  He  told  it 
by  way  of  a  boast,  repeatedly,  and  to  numbers  of 


THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE.  53 

men,  while  we  were  engaged  in  the  Pit  river 
war.  This  Fowler  is  now  married  to  a  white  woman, 
and  lives  in  Shasta  county,  California. 

Of  such  deeds  grew  the  Pit  river  valley  mas- 
sacre hereinafter  narrated. 

I  rode  down  and  around  the  northern  end  of  the 
deep  wood,  and  down  into  Shasta  valley. 

If  I  was  unfit  to  take  my  part  in  the  battle  of  life 
when  I  left  home,  I  was  now  certainly  less  so.  My 
wandering  had  only  made  me  the  more  a  dreamer. 
My  stay  with  the  Indians  had  only  intensified  my 
dislike  for  shopkeepers,  and  the  commercial  world  in 
general,  and  I  was  as  helpless  as  an  Indian. 

I  was  so  shy,  that  I  only  spoke  to  men  when  com- 
pelled to,  and  then  with  the  greatest  difficulty  and 
embarrassment.  I  remember,  lonely  as  I  was  in  my 
ride  to  Yreka,  that  I  always  took  some  by-trail,  if 
possible,  if  about  to  meet  people,  in  order  to  avoid 
them,  and  at  night  would  camp  alone  by  the  way- 
side, and  sleep  in  my  blanket  on  the  ground,  rather 
than  call  at  an  inn,  and  come  face .  to  face  with 
strangers. 

I  left  the  Indians  without  any  intention  of  return- 
ing, whatever.  I  had  determined  to  enter  the  gold 
mines,  dig  gold  for  myself,  make  a  fortune,  and 
return  to  civilization,  or  to  such  civilization  as  I  had 
known. 

Stronger  men  than  I  have  had  that  same  plan. 
Perhaps  one  out  of  twenty  has  succeeded. 


54  THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE. 

I  must  here  make  a  long  digression  from  the  Indian 
trail.  In  spite  of  my  resolution  to  boldly  enter  the 
camp  or  city  and  bear  my  part  there,  as  I  neared  the 
town  my  heart  failed  me,  and  I  made  on  to  Cotton- 
wood, a  mining  camp  twenty  miles  distant,  on  the 
Klamat,  and  a  much  smaller  town. 

After  two  or  three  days  of  unsuccessful  attempts 
to  find  some  opening,  I  determined  to  again  marshal 
courage  and  move  upon  Yreka.  I  accordingly,  on  a 
clear  frosty  morning,  mounted  my  pony,  and  set  out 
alone  for  that  place. 

I  rode  down  to  the  banks  of  the  beautiful,  arrowy 
Klamat  —  misspelled  Klamath  —  with  a  thousand 
peaceful  Indians  in  sight. 

A  deep,  swift  stream  it  was  then,  beautiful  and 
blue  as  the  skies;  but  not  so  now.  The  miners 
have  filled  its  bed  with  tailings  from  the  sluice  and 
torn;  they  have  dumped,  and  dyked,  and  mined  in 
this  beautiful  river-bed  till  it  flows  sullen  and  turbid 
enough.  Its  Indian  name  signifies  the  "  giver  "  or 
"  generous,"  from  the  wealth  of  salmon  it  gave  the 
red  men  till  the  white  man  came  to  its  banks. 

The  salmon  will  not  ascend  the  muddy  water 
from  the  sea.  They  come  no  more,  and  the  red  men 
are  gone. 

As  I  rode  down  to  the  narrow  river,  I  saw  a  tall, 
strong,  and  elegant-looking  gentleman  in  top  boots 
and  red  sash,  standing  on  the  banks  calling  to  the 
ferryman  on  the  opposite  side. 


THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE.  55 

Up  to  this  moment,  it  seemed  to  me  I  had  never 
yet  seen  a  perfect  man.  This  one  now  before  me 
seemed  to  leave  nothing  to  be  desired  in  all  that 
goes  to  make  the  comely  and  complete  gentleman. 
Yonng — I  should  say  he  was  hardly  twenty-five — 
and  yet  thoroughly  thoughtful  and  in  earnest.  There 
was  command  in  his  quiet  face  and  a  dignity  in  his 
presence,  yet  a  gentleness,  too,  that  won  me  there, 
and  made  it  seem  possible  to  approach  as  near  his 
heart  as  it  is  well  for  one  man  to  approach  that  of 
another. 

This,  thought  I,  as  I  stood  waiting  for  the  boat,  is 
no  common  person.  He  is  surely  a  prince  in  dis- 
guise ;  may  be  he  is  the  son  of  a  president  or  a 
banker,  wild  and  free,  up  here  in  the  mountains  for 
pleasure.  Then  I  thought  from  the  dark  and  classic 
face  that  he  was  neither  an  American,  German,  nor 
Irishman,  and  vaguely  I  associated  him  with  Italian 
princes  dethroned,  or  even  a  king  of  France  in 
exile.  He  was  surely  splendid,  superb,  standing  there 
in  the  morning  sun,  in  his  gay  attire,  by  the  swift  and 
shining  river,  smiling,  tapping  the  sand  in  an  absent- 
minded  sort  of  way  with  his  boot.  A  prince  !  truly 
nothing  less  than  a  prince !  The  man  turned  and 
smiled  good-naturedly,  as  I  dismounted,  tapped  the 
sand  with  his  top-boot,  gently  whistled  the  old  air  of 
"  '49,"  but  did  not  speak. 

This  man  was  attired  something  after  the  Mexican 


•  56  THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE. 

style  of  dress,  with  a  wealth  of  black  hair  on  his 
shoulders,  a  cloak  on  his  arm,  and  a  pistol  in  his 
belt. 

The  boatman  came  and  took  us  in  his  narrow 
little  flat,  and  set  his  oars  for  the  other  side.  A 
sort  of  Yankee  sailor  was  this  boatman,  of  a  very  low 
sort  too;  blown  up  from  the  sea  as  sea-gulls  are 
sometimes  found  blown  out  even  in  the  heart  of  the 
plains:  a  suspicious-looking,  sallow,  solemn-faced, 
bald-headed  man  in  gum-boots,  duck-breeches,  blue 
shirt  with  the  front  all  open,  showing  his  hairy  bosom, 
and  with  a  lariat  tied  about  his  waist  in  the  form  of 
a  sash. 

The  tall,  fine-looking  man  stepped  ashore  with  a 
quiet  laugh  as  the  boat  touched  the  sand,  and  said, 
"  Chalk  that."  These  were  the  first  words  I  had  ever 
heard  him  utter. 

The  solemn  faced  ferryman  tied  his  boat  in  a  second, 
and,  stepping  boldly  up  under  the  nose  of  the  tall 
man,  said  fiercely  : — 

"  Look  here,  what  do  you  play  me  for  i  Do  you 
think  I'm  a  Chinaman  ?  You  high  toned,  fine-haired 
gamblers  don't  play  me — not  much,  you  don't ! " 

"  Don't  want  to  play  you,  my  friend." 

"  Then  pay  me.  Why  don't  you  pay  me,  and  be 
off?" 

"  Haven't  got  the  tin.  Can't  come  to  the  centre ! 
Haven't  got  the  dust.  Can't  liquidate.  That's  the 
reason  why." 


;*£&2~~'vS?.^i 


A  FORCED  BALANCE. 


THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE.  57 

And  here  the  good-natured  tall  gentleman  again 
tapped  the  sand  with  his  boot,  and  looked  down  at 
the  river  and  at  the  bullying  ferryman  under  his 
nose. 

"Then  leave  your  coat;  leave  your — your  pistol, 
till  you  come  again." 

The  tall  man  shifted  his  cloak  from  his  right  arm 
to  his  left.  The  ferryman  fell  back  toward  his  boat. 
Sailors  know  the  signs  of  a  storm. 

"Look  here,"  began  the  tall  man,  mildly,  "I 
crossed  here  yesterday,  did  I  not?  I  gave  you  a 
whole  cart-wheel,  did  I  not  ?  a  clean  twenty  dollar, 
and  told  you  to  keep  the  change  and  use  it  in  cross- 
ing poor  devils  that  were  out  of  tin.  You  don't 
know  me  now  with  no  mule  and  no  catenas  filled 
with  tin.  Forgot  what  I  told  you,  I  should  think. 
Now,  you  count  out  my  change,  or  by  the  holy 
spoons,  I'll  pitch  you  in  there,  neck  and  crop,  among 
the  salmon." 

And  here  the  tall  man  reached  for  the  man  in  blue 
who  in  turn  turned  red  and  white  and  black,  and 
when  he  had  retreated  to  the  water's  edge  and  saw 
the  tall  man  still  advancing  and  reaching  for  him, 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  capacious  pocket  and  counted 
down  the  coin  in  a  very  methodical  and  business-like 
way,  into  the  hand  of  the  other. 

Then  the  tall  man  laughed  good-naturedly,  bade 
the  boatman  good-bye,  came  up  and  coolly  tied  his 


58  THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE. 

coat  on  behind  my  saddle,  and  we  set  forward  up  the 
trail. 

The  tall  man  hummed  an  air  as  he  followed  in  the 
trail  behind  my  pony,  the  boatman  swore  a  little 
as  he  untied  his  boat,  and  the  arrowy,  silver  river 
shot  away  towards  the  sea  between  its  rocky  walls, 
with  its  thousands  of  listless,  dreamy  Indians  on  its 
banks. 

I  take  it  to  be  a  good  sign  if  a  strong,  good- 
natured  man  who  has  a  fair  opportunity,  does  not 
talk  to  you  much,  at  first.  In  fact,  as  a  rule,  you 
should  be  cautious  of  over-talkative  strangers.  Such 
persons  have  either  not  sense  enough  to  keep  quiet ; 
not  brains  enough  to  ballast  their  tongues,  as  it  were, 
or  are  low  and  vicious  people  who  feel  their  littleness 
and  feel  that  they  mast  talk  themselves  into  some 
consequence. 

After  we  had  gone  on  in  silence  for  some  time, 
on  turning  a  point  in  the  trail  we  saw  a  man  approach- 
ing from  the  other  direction.  A  strong,  fine-looking 
man  was  this  also,  mounted  on  a  sleek,  well-fed  mule 
with  his  long  ears  set  sharply  forward ;  a  sure  sign 
that  he  was  on  good  terms  with  his  rider.  The  mule 
brayed  lustily,  and  then  pointed  his  two  ears  sharply 
at  us  as  if  they  were  opera-glasses,  and  we  a  sort  of 
travelling  theatre. 

The  man  was  richly  dressed,  for  the  mountains ; 
sported  a  moustache,  top-boots,  fur  vest,  cloth  coat, 


THE  FINGER-BOARD  OF  FATE.  59 

a  broad  palm  hat,  and  had  diamonds  in  the  bosom  of 
his  shirt.  A  costly  cloak  on  his  shoulders,  yellow 
buckskin  gauntlets,  a  rich,  red  sash  around  his  waist, 
where  swung  a  pair  of  Colt's  new  patent,  and  a  great 
gold  chain  made  up  by  linking  specimens  of  native 
gold  together,  made  up  this  man's  attire.  His  great 
hat  sheltered  him  like  a  palm. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HIGH,  LOW,  JACK  AND  THE  GAME. 

HE  man  did  not  notice  me,  but  made  straight 
up  to  my  companion  until  his  mule's  opera- 
glasses  nearly  touched  the  tall  man's  nose, 
who  was  now  in  a  little  trail  at  my  side. 

Then  the  man  under  the  palm-leaf  let  go  the 
reins,  leaned  "back  as  the  mule  stopped,  put  his  two 
hands  on  the  saddle  pommel,  and  slowly,  emphati- 
cally, and  with  the  most  evident  surprise,  as  he 
raised  one  hand  and  pushed  back  the  palm-leaf  clear 
off  his  eyes  to  get  a  good  square  look  at  my  compan- 
ion, said : — 

"  Well — blast — my  sisters  cat's-tail  to  the  bone  ! 
Is  this  you,  Prince  Hal,  or  is  it  Hamlet's  daddy's 
ghost  ?  You  back  from  the  war  path,  afoot  and 
alone  !  Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us ! 
Spirits  of  the  " 

And  here  as  if  the  mention  of  the  first-named  in 

the  sentence  had  suddenly  inspired  him  with  a  new 

thought,  he  leaned  forward,  unfastened  his  catenas, 

60 


HIGH,  LOW,  JACK  AND  THE  GAME.       61 

and  drew  forth,  a  long-necked  bottle.  He  drew  the 
cork  with  his  teeth,  then  held  the  bottle  up  to  the 
sun,  shut  one  eye,  looked  at  the  contents  as  if  to  see 
that  they  had  the  desired  bead,  handed  it  to  the  man 
he  had  called  Prince  Hal,  said  "  Boston's  best,"  and 
bowed  down  his  head. 

The  Prince  took  the  bottle  solemnly,  held  it  up  to 
the  light,  placed  three  lingers  on  a  level  with  the  top 
of  the  contents,  and  then  slowly  raised  the  bottom 
towards  the  sun. 

A  gurgling  sound,  then  the  telescope  descended, 
and  the  Prince  took  a  long  breath  as  he  handed  the 
bottle  on  to  me. 

I  had  not  yet  learned  the  etiquette  of  the  mountain 
traveller,  and  shook  my  head. 

A  hand  reached  out  from  under  the  broad  hat,  as 
the  Prince  returned  the  bottle  in  that  direction,  took 
it  by  the  neck,  shook  it  gently,  tilted  it  over  as  the 
broad  hat  fell  back,  and  consulted  the  oracle ;  then 
stuck  it  back  in  the  catenas. 

When  he  had  replaced  the  bottle,  he  stood  in  his 
great  wooden  stirrups,  rattled  the  bells  of  steel  on 
his  great  Spanish  spurs,  and  again  eyed  my  com- 
panion. 

"  Well  damn  old  roper ! "  he  again  broke  forth, 
"  money,  mule,  and  watch  all  gone,  and  you  afoot  and 
alone  !  Well,  how  on  earth  did  it  happen  ?  And  is 
it   really   so?     Just   to   think  that   Prince  Hal,   the 


62  HIGH,  LOW  JACK 

man  of  all  others  who  always  made  it  particular  hell 
for  the  rest  of  us,  should  travel  all  the  way  from 
Yreka  to  Cottonwood  to  get  a  game,  and  then  get 
cleaned  out  cleaner  than  a  shot-gun  !  Too  jolly  for 
anything !     And  are  you  really  dead-broke  ? 

"Skinned  clean  down  to  the  bed-rock.  Haven't 
got  the  colour,"  said  the  Prince,  laconically,  as  he 
again  tapped  the  dust  with  his  boot. 

"  Well  now,  do  tell  a  fellow  how  it  happened.  I 
shall  hang  up  at  Cottonwood  to-night,  and  if  I  don't 
make  the  sports  ante,  my  name  ain't  Boston.  What 
did  you  go  through  on  ? " 

"  Four  aces !  " 

"  Four  devils !  and  what  did  the  other  fellow  have  ? " 

"A  pair!" 

"  A  pair  of  what  ?  You  let  him  take  your  money 
on  a  pair  when  you  had  four  aces  ?  Now  come  !  On 
the  square — how  on  earth  did  you  get  sinched,  any- 
how ?  and  did  you  really  have  four  aces  \ " 

"Yes." 

"  And  the  other  fellow  ? " 

a  A  pair." 

"Of  what?" 

"  Six-shooters ! "  calmly  answered  the  laconic  Prince, 
still  tapping  at  the  dust  and  looking  sidewise  like,  to 
the  right. 

"  Now  look  here,"  said  Boston  earnestly,  as  he  dis- 
mounted, stood  on  one  foot,  and  leaned  against  his 


A2STD  TEE  GAME.  63 

mule,  with  tlie  broad  hat  pressed  hack  and  Lis  right 
arm  over  the  animal's  neck,  "  do  for  the  love  of  Moses 
tell  me  all  about  how  this  happened !  " 

Here  the  Prince  stopped  looking  around,  held  up 
his  head,  laughed  a  little,  and  proceeded  to  state  that 
the  night  before  he  had  a  game  with  two  new 
gamblers,  who  claimed  to  have  just  come  up  from 
Oregon,  long-haired  and  green,  as  he  supposed,  as 
Willamette  grass,  at  twenty  dollars  a  corner.  That 
about  midnight  he  fell  heir  to  four  aces,  and  staked 
all  his  fortune,  money,  mule  and  watch  on  the  hand. 
"  I  really  felt  sorry  for  the  boys,"  added  the  Prince. 
u  It  seemed  like  robbing,  to  take  their  money  on  four 
aces,  and  I  told  them  not  to  set  it  too  deep,  but  they 
said  they  would  mourn  as  much  as  they  liked  at  their 
own  funeral,  and  so  came  to  the  centre  and  called  me 
to  the  board." 

"  What  have  you  got  J " 

u  Four  aces  !  " 

a  Four  aces !  and  what  else  ?  Skin  'em  out,  skin 
'em  out ! " 

a  I  put  down  my  four  aces  before  their  eyes,  when 
one  of  them  coolly  put  his  finger  down  on  my  fifth 
card,  pushed  it  aside,  and  there  lay  the  sixth  card !  " 

Boston  gave  a  long  whistle,  and  as  he  could  not 
push  his  panama  any  further  back,  he  pulled  it  for- 
ward, and  looked  up  with  his  nose  at  Mount  Shasta. 

This  was  my  first  lesson  in  gambling.     Here  for  the 


64  HIGH,  LOW,  JACK 

first  time  I  learned  that  any  one  caught  cheating  at 
cards  forfeits  his  stakes. 

Cheat  all  you  like,  but  don't  get  caught.  A  game 
at  cards,  you  see,  is  much  like  many  other  things  in 
this  respect. 

The  Prince  of  course  remonstrated,  but  it  was  no 
use.  He  had  not  been  cheating;  they  had  waxed 
his  cards  together  and  he  did  not  detect  it  till  too 
late. 

Appearances  were  against  him ;  besides  a  pair  of 
pistols  cocked  and  at  hand,  decided  the  matter.  He 
acknowledged  himself  beat.  Took  a  drink  good- 
naturedly  with  the  crafty  gamblers  and  retired. 

For  the  benefit  of  ladies  whose  husbands  may  pro- 
fess ignorance  on  this  subject,  I  may  state  that  four 
aces  in  a  game  of  poker  make  a  "  corner  n  that  cannot 
be  broken. 

The  man  in  the  broad  hat  slowly  mounted  his 
mule,  set  his  feet  in  the  stirrups,  stretched  his  long 
legs  in  the  tapideros,  unbuckled  the  catenas,  and 
again  reached  the  contents  of  the  right-hand  pocket  to 
the  Prince,  and  leaning  back  as  my  companion  took  a 
refreshing  drink  again,  said  u  Well — blast  my  sister's 
cat's  tail  to  the  bone  !  " 

"  Prince,"  said  Boston,  as  he  drove  the  cork  home 
with  his  palm  and  replaced  the  bottle,  "  you  and  I 
have  set  against  each  other,  night  after  night,  and 
I  have  found  you  a  hard  nut  to  crack,  you  bet  your 


AND  THE  GAME.  65 

life,  but  to  see  you  skinned  to  the  bed-rock,  and  by 
Oregonians  at  that,  is  too  rough ;  and  here's  my  hand 
on  that.  You  was  always  best,  and  I  second  best, 
of  the  two  you  know,  but  no  matter;  take  this." 
And  he  put  his  hand  down  in  the  other  pocket  of 
his  catenas,  and  drew  forth  a  handful  of  twenties. 
"Take  them,  I  tell  you,"  as  the  Prince  declined. 
"  You  must  and  shall  take  them  as  a  friend's  loan 
if  nothing  else.  That  is,  I  intend  to  force  you  to 
take  these  few  twenties,  and  won't  take  no  for  an 
answer." 

The  Prince  took  the  coins,  carelessly  dropped 
them  into  his  pocket,  and  again  tapped  the  dust  with 
his  boot,  and  looked  up  at  the  sun  as  if  he  wished  to 
be  on  his  way. 

Neither  of  the  men  had  counted  the  money,  or 
seemed  to  take  any  note  of  the  amount. 

The  bottle  was  again  uncorked  and  exchanged. 
Boston  gathered  up  the  reins  from  the  neck  of  his 
mule,  settled  himself  in  the  saddle,  stuck  his  great 
spurs  in  the  sinch,  and  the  mule  struck  out,  ambling 
and  braying  as  he  went,  with  his  opera-glasses  held 
directly  on  the  river  below. 

I  had  not  been  mentioned,  or  noticed  further. 
I  might  have  been  invisible  as  air,  so  far  as  my 
presence  was  concerned,  after  I  declined  to  take  a 
drink. 

California    gamblers    these    of   the    old  and  early 

E 


66  HIGH,  LOW,  JACK 

type.  And  they  were  men !  There  is  no  doubt  of 
that.  They  were  brave,  honest,  generous  men.  But 
let  it  be  distinctly  understood,  that  the  old  race  is 
extinct. 

These  men  described  were  the  cream  of  their  call- 
ing, even  at  that  time  when  gold  was  plenty  and 
manhood  was  not  rare.  Such  men  were  the  first  to 
give  away  their  gains,  the  first  to  take  part  in  any 
good  enterprise,  not  too  much  freighted  with  the 
presence  of  a  certain  type  of  itinerants,  so-called 
"  Methodist  ministers."  In  these  few  first  years,  they 
went  about  from  camp  to  camp,  and  won  or  lost  their 
money  as  the  men  above  described. 

The  man  who  keeps  a  gambling  den  to-day  is 
another  manner  of  man.  The  professional  gambler 
through  most  of  the  Pacific  cities  of  to-day  is  a  low 
character.  The  would-be  "  sport "  who  would  imi- 
tate these  men  of  the  early  time  is  usually  a  broken- 
down  barber,  bar-tender,  or  waiter  in  disgrace. 

A  sudden  and  short-lived  race  were  these.  Gay 
old  sports,  who  sprung  up  mushroom-like  from  the 
abundance  and  very  heaps  of  gold.  Men  who  had 
vast  sums  of  money  from  some  run  of  fortune,  and 
no  great  aim  in  life,  and  having  no  other  form  of 
excitement,  sat  down  and  gambled  for  amusement, 
until  they  came  to  like  it  and  followed  it  as  a  call- 
ing, for  a  time,  at  least. 

All  men  have  a  certain  amount  of  surplus  energy 


AND  TEE  GAME.  67 

that  must  be  thrown  off  against  some  keen  excite- 
ment. You  see  how  very  naturally  very  good 
men  became  gamblers  in  that  time.  Their  suc- 
cessors, however,  gamble  for  gold  and  gain ;  too  idle 
to  toil  and  too  cowardly  to  rob,  they  follow  a  calling, 
about  the  mining  camps  particularly,  that  is  now 
as  disreputable  as  it  was  once  respectable,  or  rather 
aristocratic. 

The  grand  old  days  are  gone.  The  gay  gamblers 
with  their  open  pockets  and  ideas  of  honour ;  the  fast 
women  who  kept  the  camps  in  turmoil  and  commo- 
tion, are  no  more.  Their  imitators  are  there,  but  in 
camps  where  men  would  be  glad  to  pay  a  woman 
well  to  wash  his  shirt,  and  where  every  man  strong 
enough  to  swing  a  pick  can  get  employment,  there 
is  no  excuse  for  the  one  nor  apology  for  the  other. 

Water  will  seek  its  level.  As  a  rule,  the  low  are 
low — avoid  them,  particularly  in  America,  more  par- 
ticularly on  the  Pacific  side  of  America.  Give  a  man 
five  years,  and,  with  unfortunate  exceptions  of  course, 
he  will  find  his  level  on  the  Pacific,  and  his  place, 
whether  high  or  low,  as  naturally  as  a  stream  of 
water.  Many  of  our  old  gamblers  took  up  the  law. 
A  great  many  took  to  politics ;  some  advanced  far 
into  distinction,  even  to  Congress,  and  were  heard 
when  they  got  there.  Many  fell  in  Nicaragua.  One 
or  two  became  ministers,  and  made  some  mark  in  the 
world.     One  is  even  now  particularly  famous  for  his 


68  HIGH,  LOW,  JACK 

laconic  sword-cuts  of  speech,  born  of  the  gambling 
table,  when  he  is  excited  and  earnestly  addressing 
his  congregation  of  miners  in  the  mountains. 

As  a  rule,  these  men  remained  true  to  the  Pacific, 
and  refused  to  leave  it.  The  miners  gathered  up 
their  gold,  and  returned  to  their  old  homes;  the 
merchants  did  the  same  as  the  camps  went  down,  but 
these  men  remained.  They  have,  to  use  their  own 
expression,  mostly  "  passed  in  their  checks,"  but  what 
few  of  them  are  still  found,  no  matter  what  they  fol- 
low, are  honest,  brave  old  men. 

Nature  had  knighted  them  at  their  births  as  of 
noble  blood,  and  they  could  not  but  remain  men  even 
in  the  calling  of  knaves. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  we  passed,  on 
one  side  of  the  dusty  road  we  had  been  travelling 
but  a  short  distance,  a  newly-erected  gallows, 
and  a  populous  grave-yard  on  the  other.  Certain 
evidences,  under  the  present  order  of  things,  of  the 
nearness  of  civilization  and  a  city. 

Mount  Shasta  is  not  visible  from  the  city.  A  long 
butte,  black  and  covered  with  chapparal,  lifts  up 
before  Yreka,  shutting  out  the  presence  of  the 
mountain. 

It  was  a  strange  sort  of  inspiration  that  made  the 
sheriff  come  out  here  to  construct  his  gallows — out 
in  the  light,  as  it  were,  from  behind  the  little  butte 
and  full  in  the  face  of  Shasta. 


AND  TEE  GAME.  69 

A  strange  sort  of  inspiration  it  was,  and  more 
beautiful,  that  made  the  miners  bring  the  first  dead 
out  here  from  the  camp,  from  the  dark,  and  dig  his 
grave  here  on  the  hill-side,  full  in  the  light  of  the 
lifted  and  eternal  front  of  snow. 

Dead  men  are  even  more  gregarious  than  the 
living.  No  one  lies  down  to  rest  long  at  a  time 
alone,  even  in  the  wildest  parts  of  the  Pacific.  The 
dead  will  come,  if  his  place  of  rest  be  not  hidden 
utterly,  sooner  or  later,  and  even  in  the  wildest 
places  will  find  him  out,  and  one  by  one  lie  down 
around  him. 

The  shadows  of  the  mountains  in  mantles  of  pine 
were  reaching  out  from  the  west  over  the  thronged 
busy  little  new-born  city,  as  we  entered  its  populous 
streets. 

The  kingly  sun,  as  if  it  was  the  last  sweet  office 
on  earth  that  day,  reached  out  a  shining  hand  to 
Shasta,  laid  it  on  his  head  till  it  became  a  halo  of 
gold  and  glory,  withdrew  it  then  and  let  the  shadowy 
curtains  of  night  come  down,  and  it  was  dark  almost 
in  a  moment. 

The  Prince  unfastened  his  cloak  from  the  macheers 
behind  my  saddle,  and  as  he  did  so,  courteously 
asked  if  I  was  "all  right  in  town,"  and  I  boldly 
answered,  u  Oh  yes,  all  right  now."  Then  he  bade 
me  good  bye,  and  walked  rapidly  up  the  street. 

If  I  had  only  had  a  little  nerve,  the  least  bit  of 


TO  HIGH,  LOW,  JACK 

practical  common-sense  and  knowledge  of  men,  I 
should  have  answered,  "  No,  sir ;  I  am  not  all  right, 
at  all.  I  am  quite  alone  here.  I  do  not  know  a 
soul  in  this  city  or  any  means  of  making  a  living.  I 
have  nothing  in  the  world  but  a  half-dollar  and  this 
pony.  I  am  tired,  cold,  hungry,  half-clad,  as  you 
see.  No,  sir,  since  you  ask  me,  that  is  the  plain 
truth  of  the  matter.     I  am  not  all  right  at  all." 

Had  I  had  the  sense  or  courage  to  say  that,  or 
any  part  of  that,  he  would  have  given  me  half,  if 
not  all,  the  coins  given  him  on  the  trail,  and  been 
proud  and  happy  to  do  it. 

I  was  alone  in  the  mines  and  mountains  of  Cali- 
fornia. But  what  was  worse  than  mines  and 
mountains,  I  was  alone  in  a  city.  I  was  alone  in 
the  first  city  I  had  ever  seen.  I  could  see  nothing 
here  that  I  had  ever  seen  before,  but  the  cold  far 
stars  above  me. 

I  pretended  to  be  arranging  my  saddle  till  the 
Prince  was  out  of  sight,  and  then  seeing  the  sign  of 
a  horse  swinging  before  a  stable  close  at  hand,  I  led 
my  tired  pony  there,  and  asked  that  he  should  be 
cared  for. 

A  negro  kept  this  stable,  a  Nicaragua  negro,  with 
one  eye,  and  an  uncommon  long  beard  for  one  of  his 
race.  He  had  gold  enough  hung  to  his  watch-chain 
in  charms  and  specimens  to  stock  a  ranch,  and 
finger-rings  like  a  pawn-dealer.     He  was  very  black, 


AND  THE  GAME.  71 

short  and  fat,  and  insolent  to  the  white  boy  who 
tended  his  horses.  I  was  afraid  of  this  man  from  the 
first,  instinctively,  and  without  any  reason  at  all. 

When  you  fear  a  man  or  woman  instinctively, 
follow  your  instincts.  I  shrank  from  this  short, 
black,  one-eyed  scoundrel,  with  his  display  of  gold, 
in  a  strange  way.  When  he  came  up  and  spoke  to 
me,  as  I  was  about  to  go  out,  I  held  my  head  down 
under  his  one  eye,  as  if  I  had  stolen  something  and 
dared  not  look  into  it. 

Permit  me  to  say  here  that  the  idea  that  the  honest 
man  will  look  you  in  the  face  and  the  knave  will  not, 
is  one  of  the  most  glaring  of  popular  humbugs  that  I 
know.  Ten  chances  to  one  the  knave  will  look  you 
in  the  eye  till  you  feel  abashed  yourself,  while  the 
honest,  sensitive  man  or  woman  will  merely  lift  the 
face  to  yours,  and  the  eyes  are  again  to  the  ground. 

"  Look  me  in  the  eye  and  tell  me  that,  and  I  will 
believe  you,"  is  a  favourite  saying.  Nonsense  !  there 
is  not  a  villain  in  the  land  but  can  look  you  in  the 
eye  and  lie  you  blind. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN   A   CALIFORNIA   MIKING    CAMP. 

THINK  I  was  ill.  I  remember  some  things 
but  vaguely  which  took  place  this  night,  and 
the  day  and  night  that  followed. 

I  am  certain  that  something  was  wrong  all  this 
time ;  for,  as  a  rule,  when  we  first  land  from  a  voyage, 
or  reach  a  journey's  end,  the  mind  is  fresh  and  strong 
— a  blank  ready  to  receive  impressions  and  to  retain 
them. 

If  you  will  observe  or  recall  the  fact,  you  will  find 
that  the  first  city  you  visited  in  China,  or  the  first 
sea-port  you  touched  at  in  Europe,  is  fixed  in  your 
mind  more  perfectly  than  any  other.  But  my  recol- 
lection of  this  time,  usually  clear  and  faultless,  is 
shadowy  and  indistinct.     I  was  surely  ill. 

This  black  man  to  me  was  a  nightmare.  I  stood 
before  him  like  a  convict  before  his  keeper.  I  felt 
that  he  was  my  master.     Had  he  told  me  to  do  this 

or  that  I  would  have  gone  and  done  it,  glad  to  get 

72 


IN  A  CALIFORNIA  MINING  CAMP.       73 

from  tinder  his  one  and  dreadful  eye,  that  seemed  to 
be  burning  a  hole  in  my  head. 

The  one-eyed  black  villain  knew  very  well  he  was 
torturing  me.  He  took  a  delight  in  it.  Understand 
he  had  not  said  a  word.     I  had  not  lifted  my  eyes. 

At  last  he  hoisted  his  black  fat  hand  to  his  black 
thick  head  and  turned  away.  I  walked  with  an  effort 
out  into  the  street.  This  man  had  taken  my  strength ; 
he  had  absorbed  me  into  his  strong  animal  body. 

Here  is  a  subject  that  I  do  not  understand  at  all. 
I  will  only  state  a  fact.  There  are  men  that  exhaust 
me.  There  are  men  that  if  they  come  into  a  room 
and  talk  to  me,  or  even  approach  closely,  take  my 
strength  from  me  more  speedily,  and  as  certainly,  as 
if  I  spent  my  force  climbing  a  hill.  There  are  men 
that  I  cannot  endure;  their  presence  is  to  me  an 
actual  physical  pain.  I  have  tried  to  overcome  this 
— in  vain.  I  have  found  myself  dodging  men  in  the 
street,  hiding  around  the  corner,  or  flying  like  a  pick- 
pocket into  a  crowd  to  escape  them.  Good  honest 
men  are  they — some  of  them,  no  doubt,  yet  they  use 
me  up ;  they  absorb,  exhaust  me ;  they  would  kill  me 
dead  in  less  than  a  week. 

I  stole  away  from  the  stable  and  reached  the  main 
street.  A  tide  of  people  poured  up  and  down,  and 
across  from  other  streets,  as  strong  as  if  in  New  York. 
The  white  people  on  the  side  walks,  the  Chinese  and 
mules  in  the  main  street.     Not  a  woman  in  sight,  not 


74  IN  A  CALIFOBNIA 

a  child,  not  a  boy.     People  turned  to  look  at  me  as 
at  something  new  and  out  of  place. 

I  was  very  hungry,  faint,  miserable.  The  wind 
pitched  down  from  the  white-covered  mountains, 
cold  and  keen,  and  whistled  above  the  crowds  along 
the  streets.  I  got  a  biscuit  for  my  half-dollar, 
walked  on,  ate  it  unobserved,  and  was  stronger. 

Brick  houses  on  either  hand,  two  and  three  stories 
high.  A  city  of  altogether,  perhaps,  five  thousand 
souls.  I  was  utterly  overcome  by  the  magnitude  of 
the  place  and  the  multitude  of  people.  There  being 
but  one  main  street,  I  kept  along  this  till  the  further 
end  was  reached,  then  turned  back,  and  thus  was 
not  lost  or  bewildered.  I  returned  to  the  stable, 
stronger  now,  yet  almost  trembling  with  fear  of 
meeting  the  black  man  with  one  eye. 

As  a  rule,  beware  of  one-eyed  people,  who  have 
not  a  strong  moral  anchor;  also  beware  of  cripples, 
unless  they  too  have  a  good  and  patient  nature.  Fate 
has  put  them  at  a  disadvantage  with  the  world,  and 
they  can  only  battle  and  keep  pace  with  their 
fellows  by  cunning.  Nine  times  out  of  ten  they 
instinctively  take  to  treachery  and  tricks  to  over- 
come this  disadvantage.     Thai  is  only  natural. 

On  the  same  principle,  woman,  who  is  not  so 
strong  as  man,  resorts  to  strategy  to  match  him. 
What  she  lacks  in  strength,  she  makes  up  in  being 
more   than    his    equal    in    craftiness.     The    strong 


/ 

MINING  CAMP.  75 

grizzly  goes  boldly  upon  his  prey,  crushing  through 
the  chapparal  like  the  march  of  an  army  ;  the  panther 
lies  on  a  limb,  waiting  to  take  it  at  a  disadvantage. 
A  deaf  and  dumb  person  is  usually  a  lovable  character ; 
so  is  one  who  is  totally  blind,  for  these  live  some- 
what more  within  themselves  and  do  not  go  out  to 
battle  with  the  world,  or  at  least,  do  not  attempt  to 
match  it  in  the  daily  struggle ;  but  you  put  a  one-eyed 
man  or  a  cripple  in  the  fight,  and  unless  he  is  very 
good,  he  is  veiy  bad  indeed. 

I  went  up  to  my  pony,  standing  on  three  legs  with 
his  nose  in  the  hay,  put  my  arms  around  his  neck, 
talked  baby-talk  to  him,  and  felt  as  with  an  old 
friend.  There  was  a  little  opening  overhead,  a  place 
where  they  put  hay  down  from  the  loft.  I  looked 
up.  An  idea  struck  me.  I  looked  over  my  shoulder 
for  the  negro.  No  one  was  there.  I  climbed  up  like 
a  cat ;  found  a  hump  of  hay,  crept  into  it,  and  was 
soon  fast  asleep. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  bed.  The  wind  whistled 
through  the  loft,  and  though  I  crept  and  cowered 
into  the  very  heart  of  the  hay-pile,  the  frost  followed 
me  up  unmercifully.  I  descended  with  the  dawn, 
lest  the  negro  should  be  there,  and  was  on  the  street 
even  before  the  Chinamen,  and  long  before  the  sun. 
A  frost  was  on  the  ground,  and  a  taste  of  winter  in 
the  air  and  wind. 

To  the  west  the  pine  hills  were  brown  with  the 


76  IN  A  CALIFORNIA 

dead  grass,  then  farther  up,  green  with  pine  and  fir, 
then  white  with  frost  and  snow. 

I  walked  up  the  single  long  street  in  that  direc- 
tion, the  hills  began  to  flash  back  the  sun  that 
glowed  from  Shasta's  helmet,  and  my  heart  rose  up 
with  the  sun.  I  said,  "  The  world  is  before  me. 
Here  is  a  new  world  being  fashioned  under  my  very 
feet.  I  will  take  part  in  the  work,  and  a  portion  of 
it  shall  be  mine." 

All  this  city  had  been  built,  all  this  country 
opened  up,  in  less  than  two  years.  Twenty  months 
before,  only  the  Indian  inhabited  here ;  he  was  lord 
absolute  of  the  land.  But  gold  had  been  found  on 
this  spot  by  a  party  of  roving  mountaineers  ;  the 
news  had  gone  abroad,  and  people  poured  in  and 
had  taken  possession  in  a  day,  without  question  and 
without  ceremony. 

And  the  Indians?  They  were  pushed  aside.  At 
first  they  were  glad  to  make  the  strangers  welcome  ; 
but  when  they  saw  where  it  would  all  lead,  they 
grew  sullen  and  concerned.  Then  trouble  arose; 
they  retreated,  and  Ben  Wright  took  the  field  and 
followed  them,  as  we  have  seen. 

I  hurried  on  a  mile  or  so  to  the  foot-hills,  and 
stood  in  the  heart  of  the  placer  mines.  Now  the 
smoke  from  the  low  chimneys  of  the  log  cabins 
began  to  rise  and  curl  through  the  cool,  clear  air  on 
every  hand,  and  the  miners  to  come  out  at  the  low 


MINING  CAMP.  77 

doors ;  great  hairy,  bearded,  six-foot  giants,  hatless, 
and  half -dressed. 

They  stretched  themselves  in  the  sweet,  frosty 
air,  shouted  to  each  other  in  a  sort  of  savage 
banter,  washed  their  hands  and  faces  in  the  gold-pans 
that  stood  by  the  door,  and  then  entered  their 
cabins  again,  to  partake  of  the  eternal  beans  and 
bacon  and  coffee,  and  coffee  and  bacon  and  beans. 

The  whole  face  of  the  earth  was  perforated  with 
holes ;  shafts  sunk  and  being  sunk  by  these  men  in 
search  of  gold,  down  to  the  bed-rock.  Windlasses 
stretched  across  these  shafts  where  great  buckets 
swung,  in  which  men  hoisted  the  earth  to  the  light  of 
the  sun  by  sheer  force  of  muscle. 

The  sun  came  softly  down,  and  shone  brightly  on 
the  hillside  where  I  stood.  I  lifted  my  hands  to 
Shasta,  above  the  butte  and  town,  for  he  looked  like 
an  old  acquaintance,  and  I  again  was  glad. 

It  is  one  of  the  chiefest  delights  of  extreme  youth, 
and  I  may  add  of  extreme  ignorance,  to  bridge  over 
rivers  with  a  rainbow.  And  one  of  the  chief  good 
things  of  youth  and  verdancy  is  buoyancy  of  spirits. 
You  may  be  twice  vanquished  in  a  day,  and  if  you 
are  neither  old  nor  wise  you  may  still  be  twice   glad. 

A  sea  of  human  life  began  to  sound  and  surge 
around  me.  Strong  men  shouldered  their  picks  and 
shovels,  took  their  gold-pans  under  their  arms,  and 
went  forth  to  their  labour.     They  sang  little  snatches 


78  IN  A  CALIFORNIA 

of  songs  familiar  in  other  lands,  and  now  and  then 
they  shouted  back  and  forth,  and  their  voices  arose 
like  trumpets  in  the  mountain  air. 

I  went  down  among  these  men  full  of  hope.  I 
asked  for  work.  They  looked  at  me  and  smiled,  and 
went  on  with  their  labour.  Sometimes,  as  I  went 
from  one  claim  to  another,  they  would  ask  me  what 
I  could  do.  One  greasy,  red-faced  old  fellow,  with 
a  green  patch  over  his  left  eye,  a  check  shirt,  yellow 
with  dirt,  and  one  suspender,  asked — 

"  What  in  hell  are  you  doing  here  anyhow  ?".... 

My  spirit  mercury  fell  to  freezing  point  before 
night.  , 

At  dusk  I  again  sought  the  rude  half -open  stable, 
put  my  arms  around  my  pony's  neck,  caressed  him 
and  talked  to  him  as  to  a  brother.  I  wanted,  needed 
something  to  love  and  talk  to,  and  this  horse  was  all 
I  had. 

I  trembled  lest  the  negro  should  be  near,  and 
hastened  to  climb  again  into  the  loft  and  hide  in  my 
nest  of  hay. 

It  was  late  when  I  awoke.  I  had  a  headache  and 
hardly  knew  where  I  was.  When  I  had  collected  my 
mind  and  understood  the  situation,  I  listened  for  the 
negro's  voice.  I  heard  him  in  the  far  part  of  the 
stable,  and,  frightened  half  to  death,  hastened  to 
descend. 

When  a  young  bear  up  a  tree  hears  a  human  voice 


MINING  CAMP.  79 

at  the  root  it  hastens  down,  even  though  it  be  perfectly- 
safe  where  it  is,  and  will  reach  the  ground  only  to 
fall  into  the  very  arms  of  the  hunter. 

My  conduct  was  something  like  that  of  the  young 
"bear.  I  can  account  for  the  one  about  as  clearly  as 
for  the  other. 

My  hat  was  smashed  in  many  shapes,  my  clothes 
were  wrinkled,  and  there  were  fragments  of  hay  and 
straw  in  my  hair.  My  heart  beat  audibly,  and  my 
head  ached  till  I  was  nearly  blinded  with  pain  as  I 
hastened  down. 

There  was  no  earthly  reason  why  I  should  fear 
this  negro.  Reason  would  have  told  me  it  was  not 
in  his  power  to  harm  me ;  but  I  had  not  then  grown 
to  use  my  reason. 

There  are  people  who  follow  instinct  and  impulse, 
much  as  a  horse  or  dog,  all  through  rather  eventful 
lives,  and,  in  some  things,  make  fewer  mistakes  than 
men  w^ho  act  only  from  reason. 

A  woman  follows  instinct  more  than  man  does,  and 
hence  is  keener  to  detect  the  good  or  bad  in  a  face 
than  man,  and  makes  fewer  real  mistakes. 

When  I  had  descended  and  turned  hastily  and 
half  blinded  to  the  door,  there  stood  the  one-eyed 
negro,  glaring  at  me  with  his  one  eye  ferociously. 

"  What  the  holy  poker  have  you  been  a  doin'  up 
there  ?  Stealin'  my  eggs,  eh  ?  Now  look  here,  you 
better  git.     Do  you  hear?"     And  he  came  toward 


MINING  CAMP.  81 

humoured  way.  "How-dy-do?  Take  a  drink?" 
And  he  led  me  into  the  bar-room.  I  followed 
mechanically. 

In  most  parts  of  America  the  morning  salutation 
is,  "How  d'ye  do?  How's  the  folks?"  But  on 
the  Pacific  it  is,  "  How-dy-do  ?     Take  a  drink  ?" 

There  was  a  red  sign  over  the  door  of  the  hotel — 
a  miner  with  a  pick,  red  shirt,  and  top  boots.  I 
lifted  my  face  and  looked  at  that  sign  to  hide  my  ex- 
pression of  concern  from  the  Prince. 

"  Hullo,  my  little  chicken,  what's  up  ?  You  look  as 
pale  as  a  ghost.  Come,  take  a  smash !  It  will  strengthen 
you  up.  Been  on  a  bender  last  night;  no?"  cried 
an  old  sailor,  glass  in  hand. 

There  was  an  enormous  box-stove  there  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  with  a  drum  like  a  steam  boiler 
above,  and  a  great  wood  fire  that  cracked  and  roared 
like  a  furnace. 

The  walls  were  low,  of  painted  plank,  and  were  hung 
around  with  cheap  prints  in  gay  colours — of  race- 
horses, prize-fighters,  and  bull-dogs.  One  end  of  the 
room  was  devoted  to  a  local  picturing,  on  a  plank 
half  the  size  of  a  barn  door,  which  was  called  a 
Mexican  Bull.  This  name  was  prudently  written  at 
the  bottom,  perhaps  to  prevent  mistakes.  The  great 
picture  of  the  place,  however,  was  that  of  a  grizzly 
bear  and  hunter,  which  hung  at  the  back  of  the  man 
who  dealt  out  the  tumblers  behind   the   bar.     This 


82  IE  A  CALIFORNIA 

picture  was  done  by  the  hunter  himself.  He  was 
represented  clasped  in  the  bear's  embrace,  and 
heroically  driving  an  enormous  knife  to  his  heart. 
The  knife  was  big  and  broad  as  a  hand-saw,  red  and 
running  with  blood.  The  bear's  fore  legs  were  enor- 
mous, and  nearly  twice  as  long  and  large  as  his  hind 
ones.  It  may  be  a  good  stroke  of  genius  to  throw  all 
the  strength  and  power  in  the  points  to  which  the 
attention  will  most  likely  be  directed.  At  least  that, 
seemed  to  be  the  policy  adopted  by  this  artist  of  the 
West. 

An  Indian  scalp  or  two  hung  from  a  corner  of  this 
painting.  The  long  matted  hair  hung  streaming 
down  over  the  ears  of  the  bear  and  his  red  open 
mouth.  A  few  sheaves  of  arrows  in  quivers  were  hung 
against  the  wall,  with  here  and  there  a  tomahawk,  a 
scalping-knife,  boomerang  and  war-club,  at  the  back 
of  the  "  bar-keep." 

Little  shelves  of  bottles,  glasses,  and  other  requi- 
sites of  a  well-regulated  bar,  sprang  up  on  either  side 
of  the  erect  grizzly  bear;  and  on  the  little  shelf 
where  the  picture  rested  lay  a  brace  of  pistols, 
capped  and  cocked,  within  hand's  reach  of  the  cin- 
namon-haired bar-keeper.  This  man  was  short,  thick- 
set, and  of  enormous  strength,  strength  that  had  not 
remained  untrained.  He  had  short  red  hair,  which 
stuck  straight  out  from  the  scalp ;  one  tooth  out  in 
front,  and  a  long  white  scar   across   his   narrow   red 


MINING  CAMP.  83 

forehead.  He  wore  a  red  shirt,  open  at  the  throat, 
with  the  sleeves  rolled  up  his  brawny  arms  to  the 
elbows. 

All  this  seems  to  be  before  me  now.  I  believe  I 
could  count  and  tell  with  a  tolerable  accuracy  the 
number  of  glasses  and  bottles  there  were  behind  the 
bar. 

Here  is  something  strange.  Everything  that 
passed,  everything  that  touched  my  mind  through 
any  source  whatever,  every  form  that  my  eyes 
rested  upon,  in  those  last  two  or  three  minutes 
before  I  broke  down,  remained  as  fixed  and 
substantial  in  the  memory,  as  shafts  of  stone. 

Is  it  not  because  they  were  the  last  ?  because  the 
mind,  in  the  long  blank  that  followed,  had  nothing 
else  to  do  but  fix  those  last  things  firmly  in  their 
place;  something  as  the  last  scene  on  the  land  or 
the  last  words  of  friends  are  remembered  when  we 
go  down  on  a  long  journey  across  the  sea. 

I  have  a  dim  and  uncertain  recollection  of  trying 
hard  to  hold  on  to  the  bar,  of  looking  up  to  the 
Prince  for  help  in  a  helpless  way ;  the  house  seemed 
to  rock  and  reel,  and  then  one  side  of  the  room  was 
lifted  up  so  high  I  could  not  keep  my  feet — could  not  see 
distinctly,  could  not  hear  at  all,  and  then  all  seemed  to 
recede  ;  and  all  the  senses  refused  to  struggle  longer 
against  the  black  and  the  blank  sea  that  came  over 
me,  and  all  things  around  me. 


84  IN  A  CALIFORNIA 

The  Prince,  I  think,  put  out  his  strong  arms  and 
took  me  up,  but  I  do  not  know.  All  this  is  painful  to 
recall.  I  never  asked  anything  about  it  when  I  got 
up  again,  because  I  tried  to  forget  it.  That  is 
impossible.  I  see  that  bar,  bar-keeper,  and  grizzly- 
bear  so  distinctly  this  moment,  that  if  I  were  a 
painter  I  could  put  every  face,  every  tumbler,  every- 
thing there,  on  canvas  as  truthfully  as  they  could 
be  taken  by  a  photograph. 

I  remember  the  room  they  took  me  to  up-stairs. 
They  spoke  kindly,  but  I  do  not  think  I  could 
answer.  Every  now  and  then,  through  it  all  and  in 
all  things,  I  could  see  the  one-eyed  negro.  I  lay 
looking  at  the  double-barrelled  shot-gun  against  the 
wall  by  the  bed,  and  the  bowie-knife  that  lay  beside 
a  brace  of  pistols  on  the  table ;  some  decanters  on  a 
stand,  and  a  long  white  pole,  perhaps  a  sort  of  pick- 
handle,  in  the  corner,  are  all  that  I  remember.  And 
yet  all  this  fixed  on  the  mind  in  an  instant ;  for 
soon  my  remaining  senses  went  away,  and  returned 
no  more  for  many,  many  weeks. 

There  was  a  little  Chinaman,  tawny,  moon-eyed 
and  silent,  sitting  by  the  bed ;  but  when  he  saw  me 
lift  my  hands  and  look  consciously  around,  his 
homely  features  beamed  with  delight.  He  sprung 
up  from  my  side,  spun  around  the  room  a  time  or 
two  in  his  paper  slippers,  hitched  up  his  blue,  loose 
trousers,  and  seemed  as  glad  as  a  country  child  when 


AMONG  BARBARIANS. 


MINING  CAMP.  85 

a  parent  comes  home  from  town.  Then  he  took  up 
my  hand,  moved  my  head,  fixed  the  pillow,  and 
again  spun  around  the  room,  grinning  and  showing 
his  white  teeth. 

This  little  moon-eyed  heathen  belonged  to  that 
race  we  send  so  many  tracts  and  missionaries  to 
across  the  seas ;  and  was  one  of  those  little  wretches 
that  the  dear  children  in  the  cities  of  the  Pacific  pelt 
and  pound  on  Sabbath  days  with  cobble  stones, 
rotten  apples,  hymn-books,  bibles,  and  whatever 
comes  convenient,  as  they  return  home  from  church 
and  Sunday  school. 

At  last,  this  diminutive  Chinaman  seemed  to  come 
to  his  senses,  and  shot  out  of  the  door  and  down  the 
stairs  as  if  flying  for  a  wager,  and  I  slept  then  and 
dreamed  sweet  and  beautiful  dreams. 

When  I  awoke  the  little  heathen  had  returned. 
The  Prince,  more  earnest  and  thoughtful,  it  seemed 
to  me,  than  before,  was  at  my  side,  and  with  him  a 
sallow,  sickly-looking  physician  in  green  glasses,  and 
a  ruffled  shirt.  Miners  were  coming  in  and  going 
out  on  tip-toe,  holding  their  slouch  hats  stiffly  in 
both  hands,  and  making  long  measured  steps  as  they 
moved  around  the  bed. 

I  looked  for  the  shot-gun  on  the  wall  but  it  was 
gone ;  a  fancy-picture  too  had  disappeared,  or  possibly, 
I  had  only  dreamed  that  such  a  picture  hung  on  the 
wall  across  by  the  window.     The  pistols  had  been 


86      IN  A  CALIFORNIA  MINING  CAMP. 

taken  away,  too,  from  the  stand,  and  the  bowie- 
knife  was  gone.  There  was  only  a  book  on  the 
stand — a  brown,  old,  leather-bound  book.  The 
decanters  had  been  taken  away,  and  a  short  junk- 
bottle  stood  there,  doing  service  for  a  vase,  with  a 
bunch  of  wild  autumn  blossoms,  and  a  green  fir-twig 
or  two  to  relieve  the  yellow  of  the  blooms. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DOWN   AMONG   THE   LIVE   MEN. 

CHANGE  had  certainly  come  over  the 
actions  and,  I  may  say,  the  mind  of  the 
Prince,  in  the  long  weeks  of  my  illness. 
I  had  fallen  into  his  hands  so  helplessly  and  so 
wholly  that  I  was  in  a  way  absolutely  his.  He 
did  not  shift  the  responsibility,  nor  attempt  to  es- 
cape it. 

I  could  not,  of  course,  then  understand  why  my 
presence,  or  the  responsibility  of  a  young  person 
thrown  on  him  in  this  way,  could  have  influenced  him 
for  good  or  evil,  or  have  altered  his  plans  or  course 
of  life  in  any  way  at  all.  I  think  I  can  now.  I  did 
not  stop  to  inquire  then.  It  so  happens  that  when 
very  young  we  are  not  particular  about  reasons  for 
anything. 

It  is  often  a  fortunate  thing  for  a  man  that  the 
fates  have  laid  some  responsibility  to  his  charge. 
From  what  I  could   learn   the   Prince    was   utterly 

alone ; — had  no  one  depending  on  him  ;  had  formed 

87 


88  DO  WN  AMONG 

no  very  ardent  attachments ;  expected,  of  course,  to 
leave  the  mountains  sometime,  and  settle  down  as  all 
others  were  doing,  but  did  not  just  then  care  to  fix 
the  time,  or  assume  any  concern  about  it. 

Naturally  noble  and  generous  in  all  his  instincts, 
he  fell  to  planning  first  for  me,  and  then  for  himself 
and  me  together.  He  saw  no  prospect  better  than 
that  of  an  honest  miner.  He  shrunk  from  initiating 
any  one  into  the  art  of  his  own  temporary  calling,  and 
resolved  to  possess  a  mining  claim,  build  a  cabin,  and 
enter  upon  a  real  life.  This  made  him  a  new  man — a 
more  thoughtful,  earnest  man,  perhaps — no  better. 
Besides,  a  recollection  of  his  reverses  at  the  Klamat 
possibly  had  a  little  to  do  in  this  making  up  the 
^decision  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  in  his  life.  Not  the 
losses,  either — he  could  not  care  for  that ;  but, 
rather,  that  he  felt  ashamed  to  have  to  do  with  a 
calling  where  men  would  stoop  so  low  and  go  to 
such  lengths  to  procure  money. 

After  casting  about  for  many  days  in  the  various 
neighbouring  localities,  the  Prince  finally  decided  to 
pitch  his  tent  on  the  Humbug,  a  tributary  of  the 
Klamat,  and  the  most  flourishing,  newly-discovered 
camp  of  the  north.  It  lay  west  of  the  city,  a  day's 
ride  down  in  a  deep,  densely-timbered  canon,  out  of 
sight  of  Mount  Shasta,  out  of  sight  of  everything — 
even  the  sun;  save  here  and  there  where  a  land- 
slide had  ploughed  up  the  forest,  or  the  miners  had 


TEE  LIVE  MEN,  89 

mown  down  the  great  evergreens  about  their  cabins, 
or  town  sites  in  the  camp. 

Do  not  doubt  or  be  surprised  at  this  name  of 
Humbug.  Get  your  map  and  you  will  see  it  there — 
fifty  miles  or  more  north-west  of  Mount  Shasta,  twenty 
miles  from  Greenhorn,  thirty  miles  from  Deadwood, 
and  about  the  same  distance  from  Rogue's  Gulch. 
Hogem,  Hardscrabble,  and  Hell-bent  were  adjoining, 
and  intervening  mining  camps  of  lesser  note. 

I  asked  the  Prince  to  go  down  and  see  about  my 
pony  when  we  were  about  to  set  out,  but  the  negro 
had  confiscated  him  long  since — claimed  to  hav e  dis- 
posed of  him  for  his  keeping.  "  He's  eat  his  cussed 
head  off,"  said  he,  and  I  saw  my  swift  patient  little 
companion  no  more. 

On  a  crisp  clear  morning,  we  set  out  from  the  city, 
and  when  we  had  reached  the  foot-hills  to  the  west, 
we  struck  a  fall  of  snow,  with  enormous  hare,  ears  as 
large  almost  as  those  of  Mexican  mules,  crossing 
here  and  there,  and  coyotes  sitting  on  the  ground, 
tame  as  dogs,  looking  down  on  the  cabins  and  camp 
below. 

We  had,  strapped  to  our  saddles  behind  us,  blan- 
kets, picks,  shovels,  frying-pans,  beans,  bacon,  and 
coffee, — all,  of  course,  in  limited  quantities. 

The  two  mules  snuffed  at  the  snow,  lifted  their 
little  feet  gingerly,  spun  around  many  times  like  tops, 
and  brayed  a  solemn  prayer  or  two  to  be  allowed  to 
turn  back. 


90  DOWN  AMONG 

Snow  is  a  mule's  aversion.  Give  him  sand,  even  the 
heat  of  a  furnace,  and  only  sage-brush  to  subsist 
upon,  and  he  will  go  on  patient  and  uncomplaining ; 
but  snow  goes  against  his  nature.  We  began  to  leave 
the  world  below — the  camps,  the  clouds  of  smoke,  and 
the  rich  smell  of  the  burning  juniper  and  manzanita. 

The  pines  were  open  on  this  side  of  the  mountain, 
so  that  sometimes  we  could  see  through  the  trees  to 
the  world  without  and  below.  Over  against  us  stood 
Shasta.  Grander,  nearer,  now  he  seemed  than  ever, 
covered  with  snow  from  base  to  crown. 

If  you  would  see  any  mountain  in  its  glory,  you 
must  go  up  a  neighbouring  mountain,  and  see  it 
above  the  forests  and  lesser  heights.  You  must  see 
a  mountain  with  the  clouds  below  you,  and  between 
you  and  the  object  of  contemplation. 

Until  you  have  seen  a  mountain  over  the  tops  and 
crests  of  a  sea  of  clouds,  you  have  not  seen,  and  can- 
not understand,  the  sublime  and  majestic  scenery  of 
the  Pacific. 

Never,  until  on  some  day  of  storms  in  the  lower 
world  you  have  ascended  one  mountain,  looked  out 
above  the  clouds,  and  seen  the  white  snowy  pyramids 
piercing  here  and  there  the  rolling  nebulus  sea,  can 
you  hope  to  learn  the  freemasonry  of  mountain 
scenery  in  its  grandest,  highest,  and  most  supreme 
degree.  Lightning  and  storms  and  thunder  under- 
neath you ;  calm  and  peace  and  perfect  beauty  about 
you.     Typical  and  suggestive. 


TEE  LIVE  MEN.  91 

Sugar-pines,  tall  as  pyramids,  on  either  hand  as  we 
rode  up  the  trail,  through  the  dry  bright  snow,  with 
great  burrs  or  cones,  long  as  your  arm,  swaying  from 
the  tips  of  their  lofty  branches ;  and  little  pine  squir- 
rels, black  and  brown,  ran  up  and  down,  busy  with 
their  winter  hoard. 

Once  on  the  summit  we  dismounted,  drew  the 
sinches  till  the  mules  grunted  and  put  in  a  protest 
with  their  teeth  and  heels,  and  then  began  the  de- 
scent. 

The  Prince  had  been  silent  all  day,  but  as  we  were 
mounting  the  mules  again,  he  said — 

"  We  may  have  a  rocky  time  down  there,  my  boy. 
The  grass  is  mighty  short  with  me,  I  tell  you.  But 
I  have  thought  it  all  out,  clean  down  to  the  bed-rock, 
and  this  is  the  best  that  can  be  done.  If  we  can 
manage  to  scratch  through  this  winter,  we  will  be  all 
right  for  a  big  clean  up  by  the  time  the  snows  ily 
over  again ;  and  then,  if  you  like,  you  shall  see  an- 
other land.  There !  look  down  there,"  he  said,  as 
we  came  to  the  rim  of  a  bench  in  the  mountain,  and 
had  a  look-out  below,  "that  is  the  place  wmere  we 
shall  winter.  Three  thousand  people  there!  not  a 
woman,  not  a  child !  Two  miles  below,  and  ten 
miles  a-head !" 

Not  a  woman  ?  Not  much  of  a  chance  for  a  love 
affair.  He  who  consents  to  descend  with  me  into 
that  deep  dark  gorge  in  the  mountains,  and  live  the 


92  DOWN  AMONG 

weary  winter  through,  will  see  neither  the  light  of 
the  sun,  nor  the  smiles  of  woman.  A  sort  of  Hades. 
A  savage  Eden,  with  many  Adams  walking  up  and 
down,  and  plucking  of  every  tree,  nothing  forbidden 
here ;  for  here,  so  far  as  it  would  seem,  are  neither 
laws  of  God  or  man. 

"When  shall  we  lie  down  and  sleep,  and  awake  and 
find  an  Eve  and  the  Eden  in  the  forest  ?  An  Eve 
untouched  and  unstained,  fresh  from  the  hand  of 
God,  gazing  at  her  reflection  in  the  mossy  mountain 
stream,  amazed  at  her  beauty,  and  in  love  with 
herself;  even  in  this  first  act  setting  an  example 
for  man  that  he  has  followed  too  well  for  his  own 
peace. 

This  canon  was  as  black  as  Erebus  down  there — a 
sea  of  sombre  firs ;  and  down,  down  as  if  the  earth 
was  cracked  and  cleft  almost  in  two.  Here  and  there 
lay  little  nests  of  clouds  below  us,  tangled  in  the  tree- 
tops,  no  wind  to  drive  them,  nothing  to  fret  and  dis- 
turb. They  lay  above  the  dusks  of  the  forest  as  if 
asleep.  Over  across  the  canon  stood  another  moun- 
tain, not  so  fierce  as  this,  but  black  with  forest,  and 
cut  and  broken  into  many  gorges — scars  of  earth- 
quake shocks,  and  sabre-cuts  of  time.  Gorge  on 
gorge,  canon  intersecting  canon,  pitching  down  to- 
wards the  rapid  Klamat — a  black  and  boundless 
forest  till  it  touches  the  very  tide  of  the  sea  a  hun- 
dred miles  to  the  west. 


THE  LIVE  MEN.  93 

Our  cabin  was  on  the  mountain  side.  Where  else 
could  it  have  been  but  on  the  mountain  top  ?  No- 
thing but  mountains.  A  little  stream  went  creeping 
down  below, — a  little  wanderer  among  the  boulders 
— for  it  was  now  sorely  fretted  and  roiled  by  the 
thousands  of  miners  up  and  down. 

There  was  a  town,  a  sort  of  common  centre,  called 
The  Forks  ;  for  here  three  little  streams  joined  hands, 
and  went  down  from  there  to  the  Klamat  together. 
Our  cabin  stood  down  on  the  main  stream,  not  far 
from  the  river. 

The  Forks  had  two  butcher's  shops  ;  and  each  of 
the  rival  houses  sent  up  and  down  the  streams  two 
mules  each  day,  laden  with  their  meats ;  left  so  much 
at  each  claim  as  directed,  weighed  it  out  themselves, 
kept  the  accounts  themselves ;  and  yet,  never  to  my 
knowledge,  in  any  of  the  mining  camps,  did  the  but- 
cher betray  his  trust.  A  small  matter  this,  you  say. 
No  doubt  it  is.  Yet  it  is  true  and  new.  Any  new 
truth  is  always  worthy  of  attention.  I  mention  this 
particularly  as  an  item  of  evidence  confirmative  of  my 
belief,  that  we  have  only  to  trust  man  to  make  him 
honest,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  to  watch  and  suspect 
him  to  make  him  a  knave. 

The  principal  saloon  of  The  Forks  was  the 
"HowhV  Wilderness;"  an  immense  pine-log  cabin, 
with  higher  walls  than  most  cabins,  earth  floor,  and 
an  immense  fire-place,  where  crackled  and  roared,  day 


94  DOWN  AMONG 

and  night,  a  pine-log  fire,  that  refreshes  me  even  to 
this  day  to  remember. 

It  is  true  the  Howlin'  Wilderness  was  not  high- 
toned,  was  not  even  first-class  in  this  fierce  little  min- 
ing camp  of  The  Forks ;  but  it  was  a  spacious  place 
— always  had  more  people  in  it  and  a  bigger  fire  than 
other  places,  and  so  was  a  power  and  a  centre  in  the 
town.  Besides,  all  the  important  fights  took  place  at 
the  Howlin'  Wilderness,  and  if  you  wanted  to  be  well 
up  in  the  news,  or  to  see  the  Saturday  evening 
entertainment,  you  had  to  have  some  regard  for  the 
Howlin'  Wilderness. 

The  proprietors,  who  stood  behind  the  bar,  had 
bags  of  sand  laid  up  in  a  bullet-proof  wall  inside  the 
counter,  between  them  and  the  crowd,  so  that  when 
the  shooting  set  in,  and  men  threw  themselves  on 
the  floor,  fled  through  the  door,  or  barricaded  their 
breasts  with  monte-tables  and  wooden  benches,  they 
had  only  to  drop  down  behind  the  bags  of  sand,  and 
lie  there,  pistols  in  hand,  till  the  ball  was  over. 

These  men  were  wisely  silent  and  impartial  in  all 
misunderstandings  that  arose.  They  always  seemed 
to  try  to  quell  a  trouble,  and  prevent  a  fight ;  per- 
haps they  did.  At  all  events,  when  the  battles  were 
over,  they  were  always  the  first  to  take  up  the 
wounded,  and  do  what  they  could  for  the  dying  and 
the  dead.  There  was  a  great  puncheon,  hewn  from 
sugar-pine,  that  had  once  been  a  monte-table,  back 


TEE  LIVE  MEN.  95 

on  the  outside  by  the  chimney.  This  was  stained 
with  the  blood  of  many.  Many  bodies  had  been  laid 
out,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  to  stiffen  on  this  board. 

"We  will  have  a  man  for  breakfast  to-morrow," 
some  one  would  say,  when  shots  were  heard  in  the 
direction  of  the  Howlin'  Wilderness;  and  the  pro- 
phecy was  nearly  always  fulfilled. 

There  was  a  tall  man,  a  sort  of  half  sport  and  half 
miner,  who  had  a  cabin  close  to  town,  who  seemed 
to  take  a  special  interest  in  these  battles.  He  was 
known  as  "  Long  Dan,"  always  carried  two  pistols,  and 
took  a  pride  in  getting  into  trouble. 

"Look  here,"  said  Prince  to  him  one  evening, 
after  he  had  been  telling  his  six-shooter  adventures, 
with  great  delight,  by  the  cabin  fire,  "Look  here, 
Dan,  some  of  these  days  you  will  die  with  your 
boots  on.  Now  see  if  you  don't,  if  you  keep  on 
slinging  your  six-shooter  around  loose  in  this  sort  of 
a  way,  you  will  go  up  the  flume  as  slick  as  a  salmon 
— die  with  your  boots  on  before  you  know  it." 

Dan  smiled  blandly  as  he  tapped  an  ivory  pistol- 
butt,  and  said,  "  Bet  you  the  cigars,  I  don't !  When- 
ever my  man  comes  to  the  centre,  I  will  call  him, 
see  if  I  don't,  and  get  away  with  it,  too." 

Now  to  understand  the  pith  of  the  grim  joke 
which  Dan  played  in  the  last  act,  you  must  know 
that  "  dying  with  the  boots  on  "  means  a  great  deal 
in  the  mines.  It  is  the  poetical  way  of  expressing 
the  result  of  a  bar-room  or  street-battle. 


96  DOWN  AMONG 

Let  me  here  state  that  while  the  wild,  semi-savage 
life  of  the  mines  and  mountains  has  brought  forth  no 
dialect  to  speak  of,  it  has  produced  many  forms  of 
expression  that  are  to  be  found  nowhere  else. 

These  sharp  sword-cuts  are  sometimes  coarse, 
sometimes  wicked,  but  always  forcible  and  driven  to 
the  hilt.  They  are  even  sometimes  strangely  poetical, 
and  when  you  know  their  origin,  they  carry  with  them 
a  touch  of  tenderness  beyond  the  reach  of  song. 

Take,  for  example,  the  last  words  of  the  old  Sierra 
Nevada  stage-driver,  who,  for  a  dozen  years,  had  sat 
up  on  his  box  in  storm  or  sun,  and  dashed  down  the 
rocky  roads,  with  his  hat  on  his  nose,  his  foot  on  the 
brake,  and  the  four  lines  threaded  through  his 
fingers. 

The  old  hero  of  many  encounters  with  robbers  and 
floods  and  avalanches  in  the  Sierras,  was  dying  now. 
His  friends  gathered  around  him  to  say  farewell. 
He  half  raised  his  head,  lifted  his  hands  as  if  still  at 
his  post,  and  said : — 

"  Boys,  I  am  on  the  down  grade,  and  can't  reach 
the  brake  !"  and  sank  down  and  died. 

And  so  it  is  that  "  the  down  grade,"  an  expression 
born  of  the  death  of  the  old  stage-driver,  has  a 
meaning  with  us  now. 

A  Saturday  or  so  after  the  conversation  alluded  to 
between  Long  Dan  and  the  Prince,  there  were  heard 
pistol  shots  in  the  direction  of  the  Howlin7  Wilder- 


THE  LI  VE  MEN.  97 

ness  saloon,  and  most  of  the  men  rushed  forth  to  see 
what  Jonah,  fate  had  pitched  upon  to  be  thrown  into 
the  sea  of  eternity,  and  be  the  "  man  for  breakfast  " 
this  time. 

Nothing  "draws"  like  a  bar-room  fight  of  Cali- 
fornia. It  is  a  sudden  thing.  Sharp  and  quick  come 
the  keen  reports,  and  the  affair  has  the  advantage  of 
being  quite  over  by  the  time  you  reach  the  spot,  and 
all  danger  of  serving  the  place  of  barricades  for  a 
stray  bullet  is  past. 

I  have  known  miners  standing  on  their  good  be- 
haviour, who  resisted  the  temptations  of  hurdy-gurdy 
houses,  bull-fights,  and  bull  and  bear  encounters, 
who  always  wrote  home  on  Sundays,  read  old  let- 
ters, and  said  the  Lord's  Prayer;  but  I  never  yet 
knew  one  who  could  help  going  to  see  the  dead  man 
or  the  scene  of  the  six-shooter  war-dance,  whenever 
the  shots  were  heard. 

The  Prince  rushed  up.  The  house  was  full ;  surging 
and  excited  men  with  their  hats  knocked  off,  their 
faces  red  with  passion,  and  their  open  red  shirts 
showing  their  strong,  hairy  bosoms. 

"  It  is  Long  Dan,"  some  one  called  out ;  and  this 
made  the  Prince,  who  was  his  neighbour,  push  his 
way  more  eagerly  through  the  men.  He  reached  the 
wounded  man  at  last,  and  the  crowd,  who  knew  the 
Prince  as  an  acquaintance  of  the  sufferer,  fell  back 
and  gave  him  a  place  at  his  side. 


98  DO  WN  AMONG  THE  LIVE  MEN, 

The  proprietors  of  the  Howlin'  Wilderness  had  set 
up  the  monte- table,  which  had  been  overthrown  in 
the  struggle,  and  laid  the  dying  Dan  gently  there 
with  an  old  soldier  overcoat  under  his  head. 

When  the  Prince  took  up  the  helpless  hand  of  the 
poor  fellow,  so  overthrown  in  his  pride  and  strength, 
and  spoke  to  him,  he  slowly  opened  his  eyes,  looked 
straight  at  the  Prince  with  a  smile,  only  perceptible, 
hardly  as  distinct  as  the  tear  in  his  eye,  and  said  in  a 
whisper,  as  he  drew  the  Prince  down  to  his  face : 

"  Old  fellow,  Prince,  old  boy,  take  off  my  boots." 

The  Prince  hastened  to  obey,  and  again  took  his 
place  at  his  side. 

Again  Long  Dan  drew  him  down,  and  said,  huskily, 

"  Prince,  Prince,  old  boy,  I've  won  the  cigars !  I've 
won  'em,  by  the  holy  poker !" 

And  so  he  died. 


WINNING  THE  BET. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
snow!  nothing  but  snow. 

UCH  fearful  scenes  were  the  chief  diversions 
of  the  camp.  True,  the  miners  did  not,  as  a 
rule,  take  part  in  these  bloody  carnivals,  but 
were  rather  the  spectators  in  the  circus.  The  men  at 
The  Forks,  gamblers  and  the  like,  were  the  gladiators. 

Of  course,  we  had  some  few  papers,  very  old  ones, 
and  there  were  some  few  novels  on  the  creek ;  but 
there  was  no  place  of  amusement,  no  neighbours  with 
entertaining  families,  nothing  but  the  monotony  of 
camp  and  cabin-life  of  the  most  ungracious  kind. 

As  for  ourselves,  I  know  the  Prince  had  often  hard 

work  to   keep   his  commissary  department   in   tack. 

The  butchers  no  longer  competed  for  his  patronage, 

and  but  for  fear  of  his  influence  to  their  disadvantage, 

backed  by  something  of  real  heart,  as  these  mountain 

butchers  mostly  possess  to  an  uncommon  degree  for 

men  in  their  calling,  they  would  have  left  him  long 

ago. 

We  had  a  claim  down  among  the  boulders  big  as 

99 


100  SNO  W  !  NOTHING 

a  barn,  at  the  base  of  the  cabin,  in  the  creek ;  but  if 
it  contained  any  gold  worth  mentioning  we  had  not 
yet  had  any  real  evidence  of  it. 

We  toiled  —  let  that  be  understood  —  we  two 
together.  I,  of  course,  was  not  strong,  and  not 
worth  much ;  but  he,  from  dawn  till  dark,  never  took 
rest  at  all.  He  was  in  earnest — a  thoughtful  man 
now.  He  was  working  on  a  new  problem,  and  was 
concerned.  Often  at  night,  by  the  light  of  the  pine- 
log  tire,  I  would  see  the  severe  lines  of  thought 
across  his  splendid  face,  and  wished  that  I,  too,  was  a 
strong  man,  and  such  a  man  as  this. 

Sometimes  he  would  talk  to  me  of  myself,  lay 
plans  for  us  both,  and  be  quite  delighted  to  find  that 
I  left  all  to  him.  I  think  he  was  half  glad  to  find  I 
was  so  helpless  and  dependent. 

It  was  a  severe  and  cruel  winter.  I  remember 
one  Sunday  I  went  down  to  the  claim  and  found  a 
lot  of  Calif ornian  quails  frozen  to  death  in  the  snow. 
They  had  huddled  up  close  as  possible ;  tried  to  keep 
warm,  but  perished  there,  every  one.  Maybe  this 
was  because  we  had  cut  away  all  the  under-brush  up 
and  down  the  creek  and  let  in  the  cold  and  snow, 
and  left  the  birds  without  a  shelter. 

The  Prince  was  entirely  without  money  now,  and 
anything  in  the  shape  of  food  was  fifty  cents  and  a 
dollar  a  pound.  The  gay  gambler  was  being  put  to 
the  test.     It  was  a  great  fall  from  his  grand  life  of 


BUT  SNOW.  101 

the  year  before.  It  remained  to  be  seen  if  lie  would 
be  consumed  in  the  fire,  or  would  come  out  only 
brightened  and  beautified. 

The  cold  weather  grew  sharply  colder.  One 
morning  when  I  arose  and  went  down  to  the  stream 
to  wash  my  hands  and  face,  and  snuff  the  keen,  crisp 
air,  the  rushing  mountain  stream  was  still ;  not  even 
the  plunge  and  gurgle  underneath  the  ice.  It  was 
frozen  stiff  and  laid  out  in  a  long  white  shroud  of 
frost  and  ice,  and  fairy- work  by  delicate  hands  was 
done  all  along  the  border ;  but  the  stream  was  still — 
dead,  utterly  dead. 

The  strip  of  sky  that  was  visible  above  us  grew 
dark  and  leaden.  Some  birds  flew  frightened  past, 
crossing  the  canon  above  our  heads  and  seeking 
shelter ;  and  squirrels  ran  up  and  down  the  pines  and 
frozen  hillsides  in  silence  and  in  haste.  We  in- 
stinctively, like  the  birds,  began  to  prepare  for  the 
storm,  and  stored  in  wood  all  day  till  a  whole  corner 
of  the  cabin  was  filled  with  logs  of  pine  and  fir, 
sweet-smelling  juniper  and  manzanita  to  kindle  with, 
and  some  splinters  of  pitch,  riven  from  a  sugar  pine 
seamed  and  torn  by  lightning,  up  the  hill. 

The  Prince  kept  hard  at  work,  patient  and 
cheerful  all  day,  but  still  he  w^as  silent  and  thought- 
ful. I  did  not  ask  him  any  questions ;  I  trusted  this 
man,  loved  him,  leaned  on  him,  believed  in  him 
solely.     It   was   strange,  and   yet  not  strange,  con- 


102  SNOW  I  NOTHING 

sidering  my  fervid,  passionate  nature,  my  inex- 
perience and  utter  ignorance  of  men  and  things. 
But  lie  was  worthy.  I  had  never  seen  a  full, 
splendid,  sincere,  strong  man  like  this.  I  had  to 
have  some  one  —  some  thing  —  to  love;  it  was  a  ne- 
cessity of  my  nature.  This  man  answered  all,  and  I 
was  satisfied.  Had  he  called  to  me  some  morning 
and  said,  "Come,  we  will  start  north  now,  through 
this  snow ; "  or,  "  Come,  let  us  go  to  the  top  of  Mount 
Shasta,  and  warm  us  by  the  furnace  of  the  volcano 
there,"  I  had  not  hesitated  a  moment,  never  ques- 
tioned the  wisdom  and  propriety  of  the  journey,  but 
followed  him  with  the  most  perfect  faith  and 
undoubting  zeal  and  energy. 

The  next  morning  there  was  a  bank  of  snow 
against  the  door  when  I  opened  it.  The  trail  was 
level  and  obliterated.  Snow  !  Snow  !  Snow !  The 
stream  that  had  lain  all  day  in  state,  in  its  shroud 
of  frost  and  fairy-work,  was  buried  now,  and  beside 
the  grave,  the  alder  and  yew  along  the  bank  bent 
their  heads  and  drooped  their  limbs  in  sad  and 
beautiful  regret ;  a  patient,  silent  sorrow. 

Over  across  from  the  cabin  the  mountain  side 
shot  up  at  an  angle  almost  frightful  to  look  upon, 
till  it  lost  its  pine-covered  summit  in  the  clouds,  and 
lay  now  a  slanting  sheet  of  snow. 

The  trees  had  surrendered  to  the  snow.  They  no 
longer  shook  their  sable  plumes,  or  tossed  their  heads 


BUT  SNOW.  103 

at  all.  Their  limbs  reached  out  no  more  triumphant 
in  the  storm,  but  drooped  and  hung  in  silence  at 
their  sides — quiet,  patient,  orderly  as  soldiers  in  a 
line,  with  grounded  arms.  Back  of  us  the  same  scene 
was  lifted  to  the  clouds.  Snow !  Snow !  Snow ! 
nothing  but  snow!  To  right  and  to  left,  up  and 
down  the  buried  stream,  were  cabins  covered  with 
snow,  white  and  cold  as  tombs  and  stones  of  marble 
in  a  churchyard. 

And  still  the  snow  came  down  steadily  and  white, 
in  flakes  like  feathers.  It  did  not  blow  or  bluster 
about  as  if  it  wanted  to  assert  itself.  It  seemed  as 
if  it  already  had  absolute  control ;  rather  like  a  king, 
who  knows  that  all  must  and  will  bow  down  before 
him.  Steady  and  still,  strong  and  stealthy,  it 
came  upon  us  and  possessed  the  earth.  Not  even  a 
bird  was  heard  to  chirp,  or  a  squirrel  to  chatter  a 
protest.  High  over  head,  in  the  clouds  as  it  seemed, 
or  rather  back  of  us  a  little,  on  the  steep  and  stu- 
pendous mountain,  it  is  true  a  coyote  lifted  his  nose 
to  the  snow,  and  called  out  dolefully ;  but  that,  may 
be,  was  a  call  to  his  mate  across  the  canon,  in  the 
clouds  on  the  hill-top  opposite.  That  was  all  that 
could  be  heard. 

The  trail  was  blocked,  and  the  butcher  came  no 
more.  This  was  a  sad  thing  to  us.  I  know  that 
more  than  once  that  morning  the  Prince  went  to  the 
door  and  looked  up  sharply  toward  the  point  where 


104  SNOW!  NOTHING 

the  mule  made  his  appearance  when  the  trail  was 
open,  and  that  his  face  expressed  uncommon  concern 
when  he  had  settled  in  his  mind  that  the  beef  supply 
was  at  an  end. 

It  is  pretty  certain  that  the  two  butchers  had  been 
waiting  for  some  good  excuse  to  shut  up  shop  with- 
out offending  the  miners,  until  their  claims  should 
be  opened  in  the  spring.  This  they  now  had,  and  at 
once  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity. 

In  these  days  no  man  thought  of  refusing  credit. 
A  man  who  had  said  "  No  credit !  "  would  have  had 
"  no  business  "  in  the  mines.  Any  merchant,  saloon- 
keeper, or  butcher,  who  had  had  the  littleness  and 
audacity  to  have  put  up  the  sign  "  No  tick,"  now  so 
frequent  in  mining  camps  and  border  towns,  at  that 
time  would  have  stood  a  first-rate  chance  of  having 
his  house  pulled  down  about  his  ears.  These  men 
had  a  strangely  just  way  of  doing  things  in  the  early 
days.  They  did  not  ask  for  credit  often,  but  when 
they  did  they  wanted  it,  needed  it,  and  woe  then  to 
the  man  who  refused.  Every  man  in  the  camp  was 
told  of  it,  in  no  modified  form,  you  may  be  sure  ;  and 
that  shop  and  that  man  were,  at  the  least,  shunned 
thereafter,  as  if  one  had  been  a  pest-house  and  the 
other  the  keeper  of  it. 

We  could  mine  no  more,  could  pick-and-shovel  no 
more,  with  frosty  fingers,  in  the  frozen  ground,  by 
the  pine-log  fire,  down  by  the  complaining,  troubled 


BUT  SNOW.  105 

little  stream.     The  mine  was  buried  with  the  brook. 

I  used  to  think  some  strange  and  sympathetic 
things  of  this  stream,  even  in  our  Jiardest  battles  for 
a  respectable  existence  on  its  banks,  that  gloomy, 
weary  winter.  That  stream  was  never  satisfied.  It 
ran,  and  foamed,  and  fretted,  hurried  and  hid  under 
the  boughs  and  bushes,  held  on  to  the  roots  and 
grasses,  and  lifted  little  white  hands  as  it  ran  to- 
ward the  Klamat,  a  stronger  and  braver  brother,  as 
if  there  were  grizzlies  up  the  gorge  where  it  came 
from.  At  best,  it  had  but  a  sorry  time,  even  before 
the  miners  came.  It  had  to  wedge  itself  in  between 
the  foot-hills,  and  elbow  its  way  for  every  inch  of 
room.  It  was  kicked  and  cudgelled  from  this  foot- 
hill to  that ;  it  ran  from  side  to  side,  and  worked, 
and  wound,  and  curved,  and  cork-screwed  on  in  a 
way  that  had  made  an  angler  sorry.  Maybe,  after 
all,  it  was  glad  to  fold  its  little  icy  hands  across  its 
fretted  breast,  and  rest,  and  rest,  and  rest,  stiff  and 
still,  beneath  the  snow,  below  the  pines  and  yew  and 
cedar  trees  that  bent  their  heads  in  silence  by  the 
sleeper. 

The  Kanaka  sugar-mat  was  empty;  the  strip  of 
bacon  that  had  hung  in  the  corner  against  the  wall 
was  gone,  and  the  flour-sack  grew  low  and  sugges- 
tive. 

Miners  are  great  eaters  in  the  winter.  Snuff  the 
fierce  frost  weather  <of  ^the  Sierras,  run  in  the  snow, 


106  SNO  W!  NOTHING 

or  delve  in  the  mine  through  the  day,  and  roast  by 
a  great  pine  fire  through  the  evening,  and  you  will 
eat  like  an  Englishman. 

The  snow  had  fallen  very  fast ;  then  the  weather 
settled  cold  and  clear  as  a  bell.  The  largest  and 
the  brightest  stars,  it  seemed  to  me,  hang  about  and 
above  Mount  Shasta  in  those  cold,  bright  winter 
nights  of  the  north.  They  seem  as  large  as  Cali- 
fornia lilies ;  they  flash  and  flare,  and  sparkle  and 
dart  their  little  spangles;  they  lessen  and  enlarge, 
and  seem  to  make  signs,  and  talk  and  understand 
each  other,  in  their  beautiful  blue  home,  that  seems 
in  the  winter  time  so  near  the  summit  of  the  moun- 
tain. 

The  Indians  say  that  it  is  quite  possible  to  step 
from  this  mountain  to  the  stars.  They  say  that  their 
fathers  have  done  so  often.  They  lay  so  many  great 
achievements  to  their  fathers.  In  this  they  are  very 
like  the  white  man.  But  maybe,  after  all,  some  of 
their  fathers  have  gone  from  this  mountain-top  to 
the  stars.     Who  knows  ? 

We  could  do  nothing  but  get  wood,  cook,  and 
eat.     It  did  not  take  us  long  to  cook  and  eat. 

The  bill  of  fare  was  short  enough.  Miners  nearly 
always  lay  in  a  great  store  of  provisions — enough  to 
last  them  through  all  the  winter,  as  no  stores  or 
supply  posts  are  kept  open  when  the  mines  are 
closed,  as  they  were  then.     With  us  that  was  impos- 


BUTSJVOW.  107 

sible.  All  the  others  up  and  down  the  stream,  with 
few  exceptions,  had  complete  supplies  on  hand,  and 
had  a  good  and  jovial  time  generally. 

They  got  wood,  made  snow  shoes,  cleared  off  race 
tracks,  and  ran  races  by  hundreds  on  great  shoes, 
twelve  and  fifteen  feet  in  length,  or  made  coasting 
places  on  the  hillsides,  and  slid  down  hill. 

At  night,  many  would  get  out  the  old  greasy  pack 
of  cards,  sit  before  the  fire,  and  play  innocent  games 
of  old  sledge,  draw  poker,  euchre  or  whist,  while 
some  would  read  by  the  pine-log  light;  others, 
possessed  with  a  little  more  devilment,  or  restlessness, 
maybe,  or  idle  curiosity,  would  take  the  single  deep- 
cut  trail  that  led  to  The  Forks,  and  bring  up  down 
at  the  crackling,  cheerful  fire-place  of  the  HowhV 
Wilderness. 

The  Prince  and  I  sometimes  went  to  town  too. 
It  was  dull  work  sitting  there,  us  two,  in  the  warm 
little  log-cabin,  covered  all  up  in  snow,  with  nothing 
to  read,  nothing  in  common  to  talk  of,  and  him,  full 
of  care  and  anxiety  about  the  next  day's  rations,  and 
the  next ;  and  it  was  a  blessed  relief  to  sometimes  go 
out,  mix  in  a  crowd  and  see  the  broad-breasted, 
ruddy-faced  men,  and  hear  their  strong  and  hearty 
voices,  even  though  the  utterances  of  some  were 
often  thick  with  oaths  and  frequent  violations  of  the 
laws  of  grammar. 

One  morning  we  had  only  bread   for  breakfast. 


108  SNO  W!  NOTHING 

The  Prince  was  gloomy  and  silent  as  we  sat  down. 
He  did  not  remain  long  at  the  table.  He  stood  by 
the  fire  and  watched  my  relish  of  the  little  breakfast 
with  evident  satisfaction. 

"  Little  one,"  said  he,  at  last,  "  it  is  getting  mighty 
rocky.  I  tell  you  the  grass  is  shorter  than  it  ever 
was  with  us  before,  and  what  to  do  next  I  do  not 
know." 

There  was  something  affecting  in  the  voice  and 
manner.  My  breakfast  was  nearly  choking  me,  and 
I  tried  to  hide  my  face  from  his.  I  got  up  from 
the  table,  went  to  the  door  and  looked  across  into 
the  white  sheet  of  snow  hung  upon  the  mountain 
opposite,  got  the  air,  came  back,  kicked  the  fire 
vigorously,  and  turned  and  stood  by  his  side  with 
my  back  to  the  fire  also. 

The  weather  Avas  still  clear  and  cold.  There  was, 
of  course,  no  absolute  need  of  going  hungry  there,  as 
far  as  we  two  were  concerned,  if  we  had  had  the 
courage,  or  rather  the  cowardice,  to  ask  for  bread. 

But  this  man  was  a  proud  man  and  a  complete 
man,  I  take  it ;  and  when  a  man  of  that  nature  gets 
cornered,  he  is  going  to  endure  a  great  deal  before 
he  makes  any  sign.  A  true  man  can  fight,  he  can 
kill,  but  he  cannot  ask  for  quarter.  Want  only  makes 
such  a  man  more  sensitive.  Distress  only  intensifies 
his  proud  and  passionate  nature,  and  he  prepares 
himself  for  everything  possible  but  an  appeal  to  man. 


BUT  SNOW.  109 

Besides,  this  man  was  not  altogether  a  miner.  He 
had  never  felt  that  he  had  won  his  place  among  the 
brawny,  broad-shouldered  men,  who  from  the  first, 
and  all  through  life,  had  borne  and  accepted  the 
common  curse  that  fell  on  man  through  the  first 
transgression,  and  he  had  always  held  himself  some- 
what aloof. 

Perhaps  he  was  fighting  a  battle  with  himself, 
Who  knows  ?  It  seems  to  me  now,  although  I  had 
no  thought  of  such  a  thing  then,  that  he  had  made 
a  resolve  within  himself  to  make  his  bread  by  the 
sweat  of  his  brow,  to  set  a  good  example  to  one 
whom  fate  had  given  into  his  charge,  and  never  turn 
back  or  deviate  from  the  one  direction.  To  have 
asked  for  help  from  men  of  the  old  calling  would 
have  meant  a  great  deal  that  he  was  not  willing  to 
admit,  even  if  help  had  been  forthcoming,  which,  as 
I  have  said,  was  extremely  problematical. 

What  that  man  must  have  felt  would  be  painful  to 
consider.  As  for  myself,  I  did  not  take  in  all  the 
situation,  or  really  half  of  it.  This  man  somehow, 
stood  to  me  like  a  tower.     I  had  no  fear. 

The  weather  was  still  intensely  cold.  That  after- 
noon the  Prince  said : 

u  Come  ,we  will  go  to  town." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BLOOD    ON   THE   SNOW. 

HERE  was  a  tribe  of  Indians  camped  down 
on  the  rapid,  rocky  Klamat  river  —  a  sullen, 
ugly  set  were  they,  too :  at  least  so  said  The 
Forks.  Never  social,  hardly  seeming  to  notice  the 
whites,  who  were  now  thick  about  them,  below  them, 
above  them,  on  the  river  and  all  around  them.  Some- 
times we  would  meet  one  on  the  narrow  trail ;  he 
would  gather  his  skins  about  him,  hide  his  bow  and 
arrows  under  their  folds,  and,  without  seeming  to  see 
any  one,  would  move  jmst  us  still  as  a  shadow.  I  do 
not  remember  that  I  ever  saw  one  of  these  Indians 
laugh,  not  even  to  smile.  A  hard-featured,  half- 
starved  set  of  savages,  of  whom  the  wise  men  of  the 
camp  prophesied  no  good. 

The  snow,  unusually  deep  this  winter,  had  driven 
them  all  down  from  the  mountains,  and  they  were 
compelled  to  camp  on  the  river. 

The  game,  too,  had  been  driven  down  along  with 

the  Indians,  but  it  was  of  but  little  use  to  them. 

110 


BLOOD  ON  THE  SNO  W.  Ill 

Their  bows  and  arrows  did  poor  competition  with  the 
rifles  of  the  whites  in  the  killing  of  the  game.  The 
whites  fairly  filled  the  cabins  with  deer  and  elk,  got  all 
the  lion's  share,  and  left  the  Indians  almost  destitute. 

Another  thing  that  made  it  rather  more  hard  on 
the  Indians  than  anything  else,  was  the  utter  failure 
of  the  annual  run  of  salmon  the  summer  before,  on 
account  of  the  muddy  water.  The  Klamat,  which 
had  poured  from  the  mountain  lakes  to  the  sea  as 
clear  as  glass,  was  now  made  muddy  and  turbid  from 
the  miners  washing  for  gold  on  its  banks  and  its 
tributaries.  The  trout  turned  on  their  sides  and 
died  ;  the  salmon  from  the  sea  came  in  but  rarely  on 
account  of  this ;  and  what  few  did  come  were  pretty 
safe  from  the  spears  of  the  Indians,  because  of  the 
coloured  water ;  so  that  supply,  which  was  more  than 
all  others  their  bread  and  their  meat,  was  entirely 
cut  off. 

Mine  ?  It  was  all  a  mystery  to  these  Indians  as 
long  as  they  were  permitted  to  live.  Besides,  there 
were  some  whites  mining  who  made  poor  headway 
against  hunger.  I  have  seen  them  gather  in  groups 
on  the  bank  above  the  mines  and  watch  in  silence  for 
hours  as  if  endeavouring  to  make  it  out ;  at  last  they 
would  shrug  their  shoulders,  draw  their  skins  closer 
about  them,  and  stalk  away  no  wiser  than  before. 

Why  we  should  tear  up  the  earth,  toil  like  gnomes 
from  sun-up  to  sun-down,  rain   or  sun,  destroy  the 


112  BLOOD  ON 

forests  and  pollute  the  rivers,  was  to  them  more  than 
a  mystery — it  was  a  terror.  I  believe  they  accepted 
it  as  a  curse,  the  work  of  evil  spirits,  and  so  bowed  to 
it  in  sublime  silence. 

This  loss  of  salmon  was  a  greater  loss  than  you 
would  suppose.  These  fish  in  the  spring-time  pour 
up  these  streams  from  the  sea  in  incalculable  swarms. 
They  fairly  darken  the  water.  On  the  head  of  the 
Sacramento,  before  that  once  beautiful  river  was 
changed  from  a  silver  sheet  to  a  dirty  yellow  stream, 
I  have  seen  between  the  Devil's  Castle  and  Mount 
Shasta  the  stream  so  filled  with  salmon  that  it  was 
impossible  to  force  a  horse  across  the  current.  Of 
course,  this  was  not  usual,  and  now  can  only  be  met 
with  hard  up  at  the  heads  of  mountain  streams  where 
mining  is  not  carried  on,  and  where  the  advance  of 
the  fish  is  checked  by  falls  on  the  head  of  the  stream. 
The  amount  of  salmon  which  the  Indians  would 
spear  and  dry  in  the  sun,  and  hoard  away  for  winter, 
under  such  circumstances,  can  be  imagined;  and  I 
can  now  better  understand  their  utter  discomfiture  at 
the  loss  of  their  fisheries  than  I  did  then. 

A  sharp,  fierce  winter  was  upon  them ;  for  reasons 
above  stated  they  had  no  store  of  provisions  on  hand, 
save,  perhaps,  a  few  dried  roots  and  berries ;  and  the 
whites  had  swept  away  and  swallowed  up  the  game 
before  them  as  fast  as  it  had  been  driven  by  the 
winter  from  the  mountains.     Yet  I  do  not  know  that 


THE  SNOW.  113 

any  one  thought  of  all  this  then.  I  am  sure  I  did  not ; 
and  I  do  not  remember  hearing  any  allusion  made  to 
these  things  by  the  bearded  men  of  the  camp,  old 
enough,  and  wise  enough  too,  to  look  at  the  heart  of 
things.  Perhaps  it  was  because  they  were  all  so  busy 
and  intent  on  getting  gold.  I  do  remember  distinctly, 
however,  that  there  was  a  pretty  general  feeling 
against  the  Indians  down  on  the  river — a  general 
feeling  of  dislike  and  distrust. 

What  made  matters  worse,  there  was  a  set  of  men, 
low  men,  loafers,  and  of  the  lowest  type,  who  would 
hang  around  those  lodges  at  night,  give  the  Indians 
whiskey  of  the  vilest  sort,  debauch  their  women,  and 
cheat  the  men  out  of  their  skins  and  bows  and  arrows. 
There  was  not  a  saloon,  not  a  gambling  den  in  camp 
that  did  not  have  a  sheaf  of  feathered,  flint-headed 
arrows  in  an  otter  quiver,  and  a  yew  bow  hanging 
behind  the  bar. 

Perhaps  there  was  a  grim  sort  of  philosophy  in  the 
red  man  so  disposing  of  his  bow  and  arrows  now  that 
the  game  was  gone  and  they  were  of  no  further  use. 
Sold  them  for  bread  for  his  starving  babes,  maybe. 
How  many  tragedies  are  hidden  here  ?  How  many 
tales  of  devotion,  self-denial,  and  sacrifice,  as  true  as 
the  white  man  ever  lived,  as  pure,  and  brave,  and 
beautiful  as  ever  gave  tongue  to  eloquence  or  pen  to 
song,  sleep  here  with  the  dust  of  these  sad  and  silent 
people  on  the  bank  of  the  stormy  river ! 


1U  BLOOD  02T 

In  this  condition  of  things,  about  mid- winter,  when 
the  snow  was  deep  and  crusted  stiff,  and  all  nature 
seemed  dead  and  buried  in  a  ruffled  shroud,  there  was 
a  murder.  The  Indians  had  broken  out !  The  pro- 
phesied massacre  had  begun  !  Killed  by  the  Indians  ! 
It  swept  like  a  telegram  through  the  camp.  Con- 
fused and  incoherent,  it  is  true,  bufc  it  gathered  force 
and  form  as  the  tale  new  on  from  tongue  to  tongue, 
until  it  assumed  a  frightful  shape. 

A  man  had  been  killed  by  the  Indians  down  at  the 
rancheria.  Not  much  of  a  man,  it  is  true.  A"  capper ;  " 
a  sort  of  tool  and  hanger-on  about  the  lowest  gam- 
bling dens.  Killed,  too,  down  in  the  Indian  camp 
when  he  should  have  been  in  bed,  or  at  home,  or  at 
least  in  company  with  his  kind. 

All  this  made  the  miners  hesitate  a  bit  as  they 
hurriedly  gathered  in  at  The  Forks,  with  their  long 
Kentucky  rifles,  their  pistols  capped  and  primed,  and 
bowie  knives  in  their  belts. 

But  as  the  gathering  storm  that  was  to  sweep  the 
Indians  from  the  earth  took  shape  and  form,  these 
honest  men  stood  out  in  little  knots,  leaning  on  their 
rifles  in  the  streets,  and  gravely  questioned  whether, 
all  things  considered,  the  death  of  the  "  Chicken,"  for 
that  was  the  dead  man's  name,  was  sufficient  cause 
for  interference. 

To  their  eternal  credit  these  men  mainly  decided 
that  it  was  not,  and  two  by  two  they  turned  away, 


THE  SNO  TT.  115 

>-■ 

went  back  to  their  cabins,  hung  their  rifles  np  on  the 
rack,  and  turned  their  thoughts  to  their  own  affairs. 

But  the  hangers-on  about  the  town  were  terribly- 
enraged .  "A  man  has  been  killed ! "  they  pro- 
claimed aloud.  "A  man  has  been  murdered  by  the 
savages  ! !  We  shall  all  be  massacred  !  butchered ! 
burnt ! ! " 

In  one  of  the  saloons  where  men  were  wont  to 
meet  at  night,  have  stag-dances,  and  drink  lightning, 
a  short,  important  man,  with  the  print  of  a  glass- 
tumbler  cut  above  his  eye,  arose  and  made  a  speech. 

"Fellow-miners  (he  had  never  touched  a  pick  in 
his  life),  I  am  ready  to  die  for  me  country!  (He 
was  an  Irishman  sent  out  to  Sydney  at  the  Crown's 
expense.)  What  have  I  to  live  for?  (Nothing 
whatever,  as  far  as  anyone  could  tell.)  Fellow- 
miners,  a  man  has  been  kilt  by  the  treacherous 
savages — kilt  in  cold  blood !  Fellow-miners,  let  us 
advance  upon  the  inemy.  Let  us — let  us — fellow- 
miners,  let  us  take  a  drink  and  advance  upon  the 
inemy." 

This  man  had  borrowed  a  pistol,  and  held  or  flour- 
ished it  in  his  hand  as  he  talked  to  the  crowd  of 
idlers,  rum-dealers,  and  desperadoes — to  the  most  of 
whom  any  diversion  from  the  monotony  of  camp-life, 
or  excitement,  seemed  a  blessing. 

"  Range  around  me.  Rally  to  the  bar  and  take  a 
drink,  every  man  of  you,  at  me  own  ixpense."     The 


116  BLOOD  ON 

bar-keeper,  who  was  also  proprietor  of  the  place, 
a  man  not  much  above  the  type  of  the  speaker, 
ventured  a  mild  remonstrance  at  this  wholesale 
generosity;  but  the  pistol,  nourished  in  a  very  sug- 
gestive way,  settled  the  matter,  and,  with  something 
of  a  groan,  he  set  his  decanters  to  the  crowd,  and 
became  a  bankrupt. 

This  was  the  beginning ;  they  passed  from  saloon 
to  saloon,  or,  rather,  from  door  to  door;  the  short, 
stout  Irishman  making  speeches  and  the  mob 
gathering  force  and  arms  as  it  went,  and  then,  wild 
wTith  drink  and  excitement,  moved  down  upon  the 
Indians,  some  miles  away  on  the  bank  of  the  river. 

"  Come,"  said  the  Prince  to  me,  as  they  passed  out 
of  town,  "let  us  see  this  through.  Here  will  be 
blood.  We  will  see  from  the  hill  overlooking  the 
camp.  I  hope  the  Indians  are  'on  it ' — hope  to  God 
they  are  '  heeled,'  and  that  they  will  receive  the 
wretches  warmly  as  they  deserve."  The  Prince  was 
wild. 

Maybe  his  own  wretchedness  had  something  to  do 
with  his  wrath ;  but  I  think  not.  I  should  rather  say 
that  had  he  been  in  strength  and  spirits,  and  had  his 
pistols,  which  had  long  since  been  disposed  of  for 
bread,  he  had  met  this  mob  face  to  face,  and  sent 
it  back  to  town  or  to  the  place  where  the  wretches 
belonged. 

We  followed  not  far  behind  the  crowd  of  fifty  or 


TEE  SNOW,  117 

sixty  men  armed  with  pistols,  rifles,  knives,  and 
hatchets. 

The  trail  led  to  a  little  point  overlooking  the  bar 
on  which  the  Indian  huts  were  huddled. 

The  river  made  a  bend  about  there.  It  ground 
and  boiled  in  a  crescent  blocked  with  running 
ice  and  snow.  They  were  out  in  the  extreme  curve 
of  a  horse-shoe  made  by  the  river,  and  we  advanced 
from  without.  They  were  in  a  net.  They  had  only 
a  choice  of  deaths  ;  death  by  drowning,  or  death  at 
the  hands  of  their  hereditary  foe. 

It  was  nearly  night ;  cold  and  sharp  the  wind  blew 
up  the  river  and  the  snow  flew  around  like  feathers. 
Not  an  Indian  to  be  seen.  The  thin  blue  smoke 
came  slowly  up,  as  if  afraid  to  leave  the  wigwams, 
and  the  traditional,  ever  watchful  and  wakeful 
Indian  dog  was  not  to  be  seen  or  heard.  The  men 
hurried  down  upon  the  camp,  spreading  out  upon 
the  horse-shoe  as  they  advanced  in  a  run. 

"  Stop  here,"  said  the  Prince ;  and  we  stood  from 
the  wind  behind  a  boulder  that  stood,  tall  as  a  cabin, 
upon  the  bar.  The  crowd  advanced  to  within  half  a 
pistol  shot,  and  gave  a  shout  as  they  drew  and 
levelled  their  arms.  Old  squaws  came  out — bang! 
bang  !  bang  !  shot  after  shot,  and  they  were  pierced 
and  fell,  or  turned  to  run. 

Some  men  sprung  up,  wounded,  but  fell  the 
instant,  for  the  whites,  yelling,  howling,  screaming, 


118  BLOOD  OlST 

were  among  the  lodges,  shooting  down  at  arm's 
length  man,  woman,  or  child.  Some  attempted  the 
river,  I  should  say,  for  I  afterwards  saw  streams  of 
blood  upon  the  ice,  but  not  one  escaped ;  nor  was  a 
hand  raised  in  defence.  It  was  all  done  in  a  little  time. 
Instantly  as  the  shots  and  shouts  began  we  two 
advanced,  we  rushed  into  the  camp,  and  when  we 
reached  the  spot  only  now  and  then  a  shot  was 
heard  within  a  lodge,  dispatching  a  wounded  man  or 
woman.  The  few  surviving  children — for  nearly  all 
had  been  starved  to  death — had  taken  refuge  under 
skins  and  under  lodges  overthrown,  hidden  away  as 
little  kittens  will  hide  just  old  enough  to  spit  and 
hiss,  and  hide  when  they  first  see  the  face  of  man. 
These  were  now  dragged  forth  and  shot.  Not  all 
these  men  who  made  this  mob,  bad  as  they  were, 
did  this — only  a  few;  but  enough  to  leave,  as  far 
as  they  could,  no  living  thing.  Christ !  it  was 
pitiful !  The  babies  did  not  scream.  Not  a  wail, 
not  a  sound.  The  murdered  men  and  women,  in 
the  few  minutes  that  the  breath  took  leave,  did  not 
even  groan. 

As  we  came  up  a  man  named  "  Shon  " — at  least, 
that  was  all  the  name  I  knew  for  him — held  up  a 
baby  by  the  leg,  a  naked,  bony  little  thing,  which  he 
had  dragged  from  under  a  lodge — held  it  up  with  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  blew  its  head  to  pieces  with 
his  pistol. 


THE  SNOW.  119 

I  must  stop  here  to  say  that  this  man  Shon  soon 
left  camp,  and  was  afterwards  hung  by  the  Vigilance 
Committee  near  Lewiston,  Idaho  Territory ;  that  he 
whined  for  his  life  like  a  puppy,  and  died  like 
a  coward  as  he  was.  I  chronicle  this  fact  with  a 
feeling  of  perfect  delight. 

He  was  a  tall,  spare  man,  with  small,  grey  eyes, 
a  weak,  wicked  mouth,  colourless  and  treacherous, 
that  was  for  ever  smiling  and  smirking  in  your  face. 

Shun  a  man  like  that.  A  man  who  always  smiles 
is  a  treacherous-natured,  contemptible  coward. 

He  knows,  himself,  how  villainous  and  contemp- 
tible he  is,  and  he  feels  that  you  know  it  too,  and  so 
tries  to  smile  his  way  into  your  favour.  Turn  away 
from  the  man  who  smiles  and  smiles,  and  rubs  his 
hands  as  if  he  felt  and  all  men  knew,  that  they  were 
really  dirty. 

You  can  put  more  souls  of  such  men  as  that  inside 
of  a  single  grain  of  sand  than  there  are  dimes  in  the 
national  debt. 

This  man  threw  down  the  body  of  the  child  among 
the  dead,  and  rushed  across  to  where  a  pair  of  ruffians 
had  dragged  up  another,  a  little  girl,  naked,  bony, 
thin  as  a  shadow,  starved  into  a  ghost.  He  caught 
her  by  the  hair  with  a  howl  of  delight,  placed  the 
pistol  to  her  head  and  turned  around  to  point  the 
muzzle  out  of  range  of  his  companions  who  stood 
around  on  the  other  side. 


120  BLOOD  ON 

The  child  did  not  cry — she  did  not  even  flinch. 
Perhaps  she  did  not  know  what  it  meant;  but  I 
should  rather  believe  she  had  seen  so  much  of  death 
there,  so  much  misery,  the  steady,  silent  work  of  the 
monster  famine  through  the  village  day  after  day, 
that  she  did  not  care.  I  saw  her  face;  it  did  not 
even  wince.  Her  lips  were  thin  and  fixed,  and  firm 
as  iron. 

The  villian,  having  turned  her  around,  now  lifted 
his  arm,  cocked  the  pistol,  and — 

"Stop  that,  you  infernal  scoundrel!  Stop  that, 
or  die  !  You  damned  assassin,  let  go  that  child,  or 
I  will  pitch  you  neck  and  crop  into  the  Klamat." 

The  Prince  had  him  by  the  throat  with  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  he  wrested  the  pistol  from  his 
grasp  and  threw  it  into  the  river.  The  Prince  had 
not  even  so  much  as  a  knife.  The  man  did  not  know 
this,  nor  did  the  Prince  care,  or  he  had  not  thrown 
away  the  weapon  he  wrung  from  his  hand.  The 
Prince  pushed  the  child  behind  him,  and  advanced 
towards  the  short,  fat  Sydney  convict,  who  had  now 
turned,  pistol  in  hand,  in  his  direction. 

"  Keep  your  distance,  you  Sydney  duck,  keep  your 
distance,  or  I  will  send  you  to  hell  across  lots  in  a 
second." 

There  are  some  Tiard  names  given  on  the  Pacific ; 
but  when  you  call  a  man  a  "Sydney  duck"  it  is 
well  understood  that  you  mean  blood.     If  you  call  a 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  TT1K  STORY, 


THE  SNOW.  121 

man  a  liar  to  his  face  you  must  prepare  to  knock  him 
down  on  the  spot,  or  he  will  perform  that  office  for 
you.  If  he  does  not,  or  does  not  attempt  it,  he  is 
counted  a  coward  and  is  in  disgrace. 

When  you  call  a  man  a  "  Sydney  duck,"  however, 
something  more  than  blows  are  meant ;  that  means 
blood.  There  is  but  one  expression,  a  vile  one,  that 
cannot  well  be  named,  that  means  so  much,  or  carries 
so  much  disgrace  as  this. 

The  man  turned  away  cowed  and  baffled.  He  had 
looked  in  the  Prince's  face,  and  saw  that  he  was  born 
his  master. 

As  for  myself,  I  was  not  only  helpless,  but,  as  was 
always  the  case  on  similar  occasions,  stupid,  awkward, 
speechless.  I  went  up  to  the  little  girl,  however, 
got  a  robe  out  of  one  of  the  lodges — for  they  had  not 
yet  set  fire  to  the  village — and  put  it  around  her 
naked  little  body.  After  that,  as  I  moved  about 
among  the  dead,  or  stepped  aside  to  the  river  to  see 
the  streams  of  blood  on  the  snow  and  ice,  she  followed 
close  as  a  shadow  behind  me,  but  said  nothing. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  sharp  yell,  a  volley  of  oaths, 
exclamations,  a  scuffle  and  blows. 

"  Scalp  him !  Scalp  him  !  the  little  savage !  Scalp 
him  and  throw  him  in  the  river  \ " 

From  out  of  the  piles  of  dead  somewhere,  no  one 
could  tell  exactly  where  or  when,  an  apparition  had 
sprung  up — a  naked  little  Indian  boy,  that  might 


122  BLOOD  ON. 

have  been  all  the  way  from  twelve  to  twenty,  armed 
with  a  knotted  war-club,  and  fallen  upon  his  foes  like 
a  fury. 

The  poor  little  hero,  starved  into  a  shadow,  stood 
little  show  there,  though  he  had  been  a  very  Hercules 
in  courage.  He  was  felled  almost  instantly  by  kicks 
and  blows ;  and  the  very  number  of  his  enemies  saved 
his  life,  for  they  could  neither  shoot  nor  stab  him  with 
safety,  as  they  crowded  and  crushed  around  him. 

How  or  why  he  was  finally  spared,  was  always 
a  marvel.  Quite  likely  the  example  of  the  Prince 
had  moved  some  of  the  men  to  more  humanity.  As 
for  Shon  and  Sydney,  they  had  sauntered  off  with 
some  others  towards  town  at  this  time,  which  also, 
maybe,  contributed  to  the  Indian  boy's  chance  for 
life. 

When  the  crowd  that  had  formed  a  knot  about  him 
had  broken  up,  and  I  first  got  sight  of  him,  he  was 
sitting  on  a  stone  with  his  hands  between  his  naked 
legs,  and  blood  dripping  from  his  long  hair,  which 
fell  down  in  strings  over  his  drooping  forehead.  He 
had  been  stunned  by  a  grazing  shot,  no  doubt,  and 
had  fallen  among  the  first.  He  came  up  to  his  work, 
though,  like  a  man,  when  his  senses  returned,  and 
without  counting  the  chances,  lifted  his  two  hands  to 
do  with  all  his  might  the  thing  he  had  been  taught. 

Valour,  such  valour  as  that,  is  not  a  cheap  or  com- 
mon thing.     It  is  rare  enough  to  be  respected  even  by 


THE  SNOW.  123 

the  worst  of  men.  It  is  only  the  coward  that  affects 
to  despise  such  courage.  He  is  moved  to  this  alto- 
gether by  the  lowest  kind  of  jealousy.  A  coward 
knows  how  entirely  contemptible  he  is,  and  can 
hardly  bear  to  see  another  dignified  with  that 
noble  attribute  which  he  for  ever  feels  is  no  part 
of  his  nature. 

So  this  boy  sat  there  on  the  stone  as  the  village 
burned,  the  smoke  from  burning  skins,  the  wild-rye 
straw,  willow-baskets  and  Indian  robes,  ascended, 
and  a  smell  of  burning  bodies  went  up  to  the  Indians' 
God  and  the  God  of  us  all,  and  no  one  said  nay,  and 
no  one  approached  him ;  the  men  looked  at  him  from 
under  their  slouched  hats  as  they  moved  around, 
but  said  nothing. 

I  pitied  him.  God  knows  I  pitied  him.  I  clasped 
my  hands  together  in  grief.  I  was  a  boy  myself, 
alone,  helpless,  in  an  army  of  strong  and  unsympa- 
thetic men.  I  would  have  gone  up  and  put  my  arms 
about  the  wild  and  splendid  little  savage,  bloody  and 
desperate  as  he  was,  so  lonely  now,  so  intimate  with 
death,  so  pitiful !  if  I  had  dared,  dared  the  reproach 
of  men -brutes. 

But  besides  that  there  was  a  sort  of  nobility  about 
him;  his  recklessness,  his  desire  to  die,  lifting  his 
little  arms  against  an  army  of  strong  and  reckless 
men,  his  proud  and  defiant  courage,  that  made  me 
feel  at  once  that  he  was  above  me,  stronger,  somehow 


124  BLOOD  OUT  THE  SNO  W. 

better,  than  I.  Still,  he  was  a  boy  and  I  was  a  boy — 
the  only  boys  in  the  camp ;  and  my  heart  went  out, 
strong  and  true,  towards  him. 

The  work  of  destruction  was  now  too  complete.  There 
was  not  found  another  living  thing — nothing  but  two 
or  three  Indians  that  had  been  shot  and  shot,  and  yet 
seemed  determined  never  to  die,  that  lay  in  the  bloody 
snow  down  towards  the  rim  of  the  river. 

Naked  nearly,  they  were,  and  only  skeletons,  with 
the  longest  and  blackest  hair  tangled  and  tossed,  and 
blown  in  strips  and  strings,  or  in  clouds  out  on  the 
white  and  the  blood-red  snow,  or  down  their  tawny 
backs,  or  over  their  bony  breasts,  about  their  dusky 
forms,  fierce  and  unconquered,  with  the  bloodless  lips 
set  close,  and  blue,  and  cold,  and  firm,  like  steel. 

The  dead  lay  around  us,  piled  up  in  places,  limbs 
twisted  with  limbs  in  the  wrestle  with  death ;  a  mother 
embracing  her  boy  here;  an  arm  thrown  around  a 
neck  there :  as  if  these  wild  people  could  love  as  well 
as  die. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

A   WORD   FOR   THE   RED   MEN. 

'OT  a  dog  in  camp.     All  had  been  eaten,  I 

suppose,  long  before.     Children   die   first  in 

their  famines;   then  the   old   men,  then  the 

young  men.     The  endurance  of  an  Indian  woman  is 

a  marvel. 

In  the  village,  some  of  the  white  men  claimed  to 

have  found  something  that  had  been  stolen.     I  have 

not  the   least   idea   there  was   any  truth  in   it.      I 

wish  there  was  ;  then  there  might  be  some  shadow  of 

excuse  for  all  the  murders  that  made  up  this  cruel 

tragedy,  all  of    which  is,  I   believe,  literally  true; 

truer  than   nine-tenths   of   the   histoiy   and   official 

reports  written,  wherein  these  people  are  mentioned ; 

and  I  stand  ready  to  give  names,  dates,  and  detail  to 

all  whom  it  may  concern. 

Let  me  not  here  be  misunderstood.     An  Indian  is 

no   better  than   a  white   man.     If  he  sins  let  him 

suffer.     But   I   do  protest   against    this   custom   of 

making  up  a  case — this  custom  of  deciding  the  case 

125 


126  A  WORD  FOR 

against  him  in  favour  of  the  white  man,  for  ever,  on 
the  evidence  of  the  white  man  only ;  even  though  that 
custom  be,  in  the  language  of  the  law,  so  old  "  that 
the  memory  of  man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary." 

The  white  man  and  the  red  man  are  much  alike, 
with  one  great  difference,  which  you  must  and  will 
set  down  to  the  advantage  of  the  latter. 

The  Indian  has  no  desire  for  fortune ;  he  has  no 
wish  in  his  wild  state  to  accumulate  wealth ;  and  it 
is  in  his  wild  state  that  he  must  be  judged,  for  it  is 
in  that  condition  that  he  is  said  to  sin.  If  "  money  is 
the  root  of  all  evil,"  as  Solomon  hath  it,  then  the 
Indian  has  not  that  evil,  or  that  root  of  evil,  or  any 
desire  for  it. 

It  is  the  white  man's  monopoly.  If  an  Indian 
loves  you,  trusts  you,  or  believes  in  you  at  all,  he 
will  serve  you,  guide  you  through  the  country, 
follow  you  to  battle,  fight  for  you,  he  and  all  his 
sons  and  kindred,  and  never  think  of  the  pay  or 
profit.  He  would  despise  it  if  offered,  beyond  some 
presents,  some  tokens  of  remembrance,  decorations,  or 
simplest  articles  of  use. 

Again,  I  do  vehemently  protest  against  taking  the 
testimony  of  border  Indians  or  any  Indians  with 
whom  the  white  man  comes  in  constant  contact,  and 
to  whom  he  has  taught  the  use  of  money  and  the  art 
of  lying. 

And  most  particularly  I  do  protest  against  taking 


THE  RED  MEN.  127 

these  Indians — turn-skins  and  renegades — who 
affiliate,  mix,  and  strike  hands  with  the  whites,  as 
representative  Indians.  Better  take  our  own 
"  camp  followers "  as  respectable  and  representative 
soldiers. 

When  you  reflect  that  for  centuries  the  Indians  in 
almost  every  lodge  on  the  continent,  at  almost  every 
council,  have  talked  of  the  whites  and  their  aggres- 
sions, and  of  these  things  chiefly,  and  always  with  that 
bitterness  which  characterizes  people  who  look  at  and 
see  only  one  side  of  a  case,  then  you  may  come  to 
understand,  a  little,  their  eternal  hatred  of  their 
hereditary  enemy — how  deeply  seated  this  is,  how  it 
has  become  a  part  of  their  nature,  and,  above  all, 
how  low,  fallen,  and  how  unlike  a  true  Indian  one 
must  be  who  leaves  his  retreating  tribe  and  lingers  in 
a  drunken  and  debauched  fellowship  with  the  whites, 
losing  all  his  virtues  and  taking  on  all  the  vices  of 
his  enemy. 

A  pot-house  politician  should  represent  us  at  the 
court  of  St.  James's,  if  such  an  Indian  is  to  be  taken 
as  a  representative  of  his  race. 

The  true  Indian  retires  before  the  white  man's  face 
to  the  forest  and  to  the  mountain  tops.  It  is  very 
true  he  leaves  a  surf,  a  sort  of  kelp  and  drift-wood, 
and  trash,  the  scum,  the  idlers,  and  the  cowards  and 
prostitutes  of  his  tribe,  as  the  sea  leaves  weeds  and 
drift  and  kelp. 


128  A  WORD  FOR 

Judge  not  the  sea  by  this,  I  implore  you.  This  is 
not  the  sea,  but  the  refuse  and  dregs  of  the  sea.  The 
misfortune  of  it  is,  however,  that  this  is  about  all 
that  those  who  have  written  and  pronounced  upon 
the  character  of  the  Indian  have  ever  seen. 

And,  again,  why  hold  the  whole  race,  from  Cariboo 
to  Cape  Saint  Lucas,  responsible  for  a  single  sin? 
Of  course  we  may  deplore  the  death  of  the  white  man 
on  the  border.  But  for  every  white  man  that  falls 
the  ghosts  of  a  hundred  Indians  follow.  A  white  man 
is  killed  (half  the  time  by  a  brother  white  man)  and 
the  account  of  it  fills  the  land.  Telegraph  and 
printing-press  reiterate,  day  after  day,  the  whole 
details,  and  who  shall  say  that  they  grow  less  as  they 
spread  to  every  household  ?  The  artist  is  called  in. 
His  ingenuity  is  taxed  and  tortured  to  put  the 
horrible  affair  before  the  world  in  flaming  illustra- 
tions, and  a  general  cry  goes  up  against  the  Indians, 
no  matter  where. 

All  right  enough,  no  doubt ;  but  who  tells  the  tale 
when  the  Indian  falls,  or  who  tells  his  side  of  the 
story  ?  A  hundred  Indians  are  killed  in  cold  blood 
by  the  settlers,  and  the  affair  is  never  heard  of  out- 
side the  county  where  it  occurs. 

If  we  wish  for  justice  let  .us,  at  least,  try  to  be  just. 
If  we  do  wrong  it  seems  to  me  to  take  half  the  sin 
away  to  be  brave  enough  to  admit  it.  At  all  events, 
it  shows  that  if  we  have  one  great  sin  we  have  also 
one  virtue — Valour. 


THE  RED  MEN.  129 

Killed  by  the  Indians  !  Yes,  many  good  men  have 
been  killed  by  the  Indians  with  cause  and  without 
cause.  Many  good  men  have  also  died  of  fevers.  I 
think  a  man  is  about  as  likely  to  die  a  natural  death 
in  New  York,  New  Orleans,  or  any  other  city,  if  he 
remains  there,  as  he  is  to  be  killed  by  the  Indians, 
should  he  travel  or  remain  amongst  them. 

Take  one  case  in  point.  I  happen  to  know  an  old 
man  who  has  lived  more  than  forty  years  on  the 
frontier  and  among  the  Indians.  More  than  twenty 
years  ago  he  took  his  little  family  of  children  and 
made  the  six  months'  journey  through  the  heart  of 
the  Indian  countries  across  the  great  plains,  almost 
alone  and  entirely  unarmed.  I  happen  to  know  that 
this  old  man,  owing  to  his  singularly  quiet  nature 
and  Quaker-like  love  of  peace,  never  fired  a  gun  or 
pistol  in  his  life  for  any  purpose  whatever.  I  happen 
to  know  that  he  made  many  journeys  through  the 
Indian  countries ;  lived  and  still  lives  on  the  border, 
always  unarmed  and  utterly  helpless  in  the  use  of 
arms,  and  yet  never  received  so  much  as  an  uncivil 
word  from  an  Indian.  I  am  not  mistaken  in  this,  for 
the  old  man  referred  to,  is  my  father. 

Twenty  years'  observation  ought  to  enable  one  to 
speak  with  intelligence  on  this  subject ;  and  I  am  free 
to  say  that  grandmothers  never  hold  up  before 
naughty  children  a  bigger  or  more  delusive  bug-a-boo 
than  this  universal  fear  of  Indians. 


130  A  WORD  FOR 

The  village  was  soon  consumed ;  and  as  the  smoke 
went  up,  black  and  sullen,  from  its  embers,  we  turned 
away  towards  our  cabin.  Most  of  the  men  had 
already  gone.  A  sort  of  chill  had  fallen  over  all,  and 
they  scarcely  spoke  to  each  other  now.  They  were 
more  than  sober. 

The  blood,  the  burning  camp,  the  cold  and  cruel 
butchery,  the  perfect  submission,  the  savage  silence 
in  which  the  wretches  died,  the  naked,  bony  forms 
in  the  snow,  had  gone  to  the  hearts  of  the  men,  and 
they  were  glad  to  get  away  when  all  was  over. 

There  was  not  an  adventure,  not  an  achievement, 
not  a  hazard  or  escape  of  any  one  to  allude  to.  The 
only  heroic  act  was  that  of  the  little  skeleton  savage 
with  his  club.  I  think  they  almost  wished  they  had 
butchered  and  scalped  this  boy  as  they  had  threatened. 
To  think  that  the  only  achievement  of  the  whole 
affair  worth  mentioning  was  that  of  an  Indian,  and 
an  Indian  boy  at  that !     They  did  not  mention  it. 

The  men  were  nearly  all  gone  now,  stringing  up 
along  the  snowy  trail  by  twos  and  threes,  toward  The 
Forks.  A  few  still  lingered  about  the  smouldering 
wigwams,  or  stood  looking  down  into  the  river,  grind- 
ing its  blocks  of  ice  in  its  mighty,  rocky  jaws. 

The  boy  had  not  moved.  I  believe  he  had  not 
lifted  his  eyes.  The  sharp  wind,  pitching  up  and 
down  and  across,  cut  him  no  doubt,  on  the  one  hand, 
while  the  burning  wigwams  scorched  him  on  the 
other ;  but  he  did  not  move. 


THE  RED  MEN.  131 

The  Prince  had  stood  there  all  this  time  like  a 
king,  turning  sometimes  to  watch  this  man  or  that, 
but  never  going  aside,  never  giving  way  an  inch  for 
any  one.  They  went  around  him,  they  avoided  him, 
or  deferred  to  him  in  every  way  possible.  From  the 
very  moment  he  came  down  from  the  bluff  to  the 
bank  of  the  river,  and  they  saw  him  in  their  midst, 
they  felt  the  presence  of  a  master  and  a  man. 

I  had  always  said  to  myself,  this  man  is  of  royal 
blood.  This  man  was  born  to  lead  and  control.  To 
me  he  had  always  stood,  like  Saul,  a  head  and  shoul- 
ders above  his  fellows.  I  had  always  believed  him  a 
king  of  men,  and  now  I  knew  it. 

He  took  the  little  girl  by  the  hand,  folded  her  robe 
about  her  gently  as  if  she  had  been  a  Christian 
born,  looked  to  her  moccasins,  and  then  cast  about  to 
see  who  should  take  and  provide  for  the  boy.  The 
last  man  was  going — gone  ! 

There  was  a  look  of  pain  and  trouble  in  the  face  of 
the  Prince.  There  was  not  a  crust  of  bread  in  the 
cabin :  a  poor  place  to  which  to  take  the  two  starved 
children,  to  be  sure. 

The  cast  of  care  blew  on  with  the  wind ;  and  with 
the  same  old  look  of  confidence  and  self-possession  he 
went  up  to  the  Indian  boy,  took  him  by  the  thin 
little  arm,  and  bade  him  arise  and  follow. 

The  boy  started.  He  did  not  understand,  and  then 
he  understood  perfectly.     He  stood  up  taller  than 


132  A   WOBD  FOB 

before.  His  face  looked  fierce  and  bitter,  and  his 
bands  lifted  as  if  be  would  strike.  Tbe  Prince  smiled, 
stooped  and  picked  up  bis  club,  and  put  it  in  bis 
band.  Tbis  conquered  bim.  He  stood  it  against  tbe 
stone  on  wbicb  be  bad  sat,  took  up  a  robe  tbat  lay 
under  bis  feet,  fastened  bis  moccasin  strings,  and  we 
moved  away  together  and  in  silence. 

Tbe  little  girl  would  look  up  now  and  then,  and 
endeavour  to  be  pleasant  and  do  cunning  things ;  but 
this  boy  with  his  club  tucked  under  bis  robe  did  not 
look  up,  nor  down,  nor  around  him. 

There  were  some  dead  that  lay  in  the  way ;  be  did 
not  notice  them.  He  walked  across  them  as  if  they 
bad  been  clay.  "What  could  he  have  been  thinking 
of? 

I  know  very  well  what  I  do ;  how  unpopular  and 
unprofitable  it  is  to  speak  a  word  for  tbis  weak  and 
unfriended  people.  A  popular  verdict  seems  of  late 
to  have  been  given  against  them.  Fate,  too,  seems 
to  have  the  matter  in  hand,  for  in  tbe  last  decade 
they  have  lost  more  ground  than  in  the  fifty  preced- 
ing years.  Cannon  are  mounted  on  their  strong-holds, 
even  on  the  summits  of  the  Kocky  Mountains.  Bay- 
onets bristle  in  their  forests  of  the  north,  and  sabres 
flash  along  the  plains  of  the  Apache.  There  is  no 
one  to  speak  for  them  now,  not  one.  If  there  was  I 
should  be  silent. 

Game  and  fish  have  their  seasons  to  come  and  go, 


THE  RED  MEN.  133 

as  regular  as  the  flowers.  Now  the  game  go  to  the 
hills,  now  to  the  valleys,  to  winter,  now  to  the  moun- 
tains, to  bring  forth  their  young.  You  break  in  upon 
their  habits  by  pushing  settlements  here  and  there. 
With  the  fish  you  do  the  same  by  building  dams  and 
driving  steam-boats,  and  you  break  the  whole  machin- 
ery of  their  lives  and  stop  their  increase.  Then  the 
Indians  must  starve,  or  push  over  on  to  the  hunting 
and  fishing  grounds  of  another  tribe.  This  makes 
war.  The  result  is  they  fight — fight  like  dogs  !  almost 
like  Christians !  Here  is  the  whole  trouble  with  this 
doomed  race,  in  a  nut-shell. 

Let  us,  sometimes,  look  down  into  this  thing  hon- 
estly, try  and  find  the  truth,  and  understand. 

Even  the  ocean  has  a  bottom. 

These  rude  red  men  love  their  lands  and  their 
homes.  The  homes  for  which  their  fathers  fought 
for  a  thousand  generations,  where  their  fathers  lie 
buried  with  their  deeds  of  daring  written  all  over 
the  land,  every  mountain  pass  a  page  of  history ; 
every  mountain  peak  a  monument  to  some  departed 
hero ;  every  mountain  stream  a  story  and  a  tradition. 
They  love  and  cherish  these  as  no  other  people  can, 
for  their  lands,  their  leafy  homes,  are  all  they  have 
to  love. 

I  know  very  well  that  they  have  never  received  so 
much  as  a  red  blanket  for  all  the  matchless  and 
magnificent  Willamette  valley ;  and,  I  may  add,  that 


134  A   WOBD  FOE 

the  whites  never  took  that  in  war,  and  so  cannot 
claim  it  as  a  conquest.  No  white  man's  blood  ever 
stained  that  great  and  fertile  valley  at  the  hands  of 
an  Indian. 

True,  there  are  Reservations  over  on  the  sea,  forty 
and  fifty  miles  away  from  the  valley ;  but  the  interior 
Indian  had  as  soon  descend  silently  to  his  grave  as 
go  there  to  live.  Hundreds  have  so  chosen  and  acted 
on  the  choice.  The  sea-coast  Indians  are  "  fish-eaters." 
"  They  stink  !"  say  the  valley  Indians,  "  while  we  of 
the  interior  eat  venison  and  acorns." 

Their  feuds  and  wars  were  fierce,  and  reached  far- 
ther back  than  their  traditions.  Fancy  these  valley 
Indians  being  induced  to  go  over  there  on  their  ene- 
mies' lands  to  make  a  home.  Their  own  sense  of 
justice  revolted  at  it.  Besides,  they  knew  they  would 
be  murdered,  one  by  one,  in  spite  of  the  promises 
and  half-extended  protection  of  the  Government. 

Let  Germans,  to-day,  enter,  helpless  and  unarmed, 
even  into  civilized  Paris,  and  sit  down  there  without 
ample  protection,  and  see  how  it  would  be.  Compel 
certain  celebrated  leaders  of  the  North  to  go  down 
unarmed  and  pitch  their  tents  under  the  palm-trees 
of  the  Ku-Klux,  and  mark  what  would  follow. 

The  Indian  agent  of  this  Reservation  by  the  sea, 
who  had  Indians  gathered  in  from  a  thousand  miles 
of  territory,  could  not  understand  wThy  Indians  would 
fight  among  themselves.     "  Ah !  but  they  are  a  vile 


THE  RED  MEN.  135 

set,"  he  said :  "  they  fight  among  themselves  like  dogs. 
They  are  a  low  set.  They  will  soon  kill  each  other 
off."     And  so  they  did. 

The  miserable  heathens  were  as  bad  as  the  Chris- 
tians of  the  North  and  South.  They  fought  amongst 
each  other.  The  ungrateful  wretches !  To  fight 
amongst  themselves  after  all  the  Government  had 
done  for  them  !  Why  did  they  not  keep  quiet,  and 
die  of  small-pox  and  cholera  in  the  little  pens  built 
for  them,  all  at  the  expense  of  the  Government  ? 

If  the  Government  invites  settlers  to  a  place,  and 
sells  or  gives  away  land  that  does  not  yet  belong  to 
the  Government,  and  a  difficulty  arises  between  the 
immigrant  and  the  Indian,  and  the  whites  get  the 
worst  of  it,  why,  send  in  a  thousand  young  lieuten- 
ants, thirsting  for  glory,  and  they  will  soon  bring 
them  to  terms,  at  a  cost  to  the  Government  only  a 
few  hundred  times  more  than  it  would  take  to  set  the 
Indians  up  comfortably  for  life.  But  if  the  Indians 
get  the  worst  of  any  little  misunderstanding  that 
may  arise,  why — why,  they  get  the  worst  of  it,  and 
what  is  the  use  to  interfere  ! 

I  was  present  once  when  the  superintendent  sent 
a  delegation  of  half -civilized  Indians  into  the  moun- 
tains to  the  chief  of  the  Shastas,  old  Worrotetot,  called 
Black-beard  by  the  whites,  for  he  was  bearded  like  a 
prophet,  to  ask  him  to  surrender  and  go  on  to  the 
Reservation. 


136  A   WORD  FOR 

"  Where  is  the  Superintendent,  the  man  of  blank- 
ets?" 

"  Down  in  the  valley,  at  the  base  of  the  Shasta 
mountain." 

"  Well,  that  is  all  right,  I  suppose.  Let  him  stay- 
there,  if  he  like,  and  I  will  stay  here." 

"  But  we  must  take  him  an  answer.  Will  you  go 
or  not  ?" 

"What  can  I  do  if  I  go?" 

"  You  shall  have  a  house,  a  farm,  and  horses." 

"Where?" 

"  Down  at  the  Keservation,  by  the  sea." 

"  Bah  !  give  me  a  piece  of  land  down  by  the  sea  ? 
Where  did  he  get  it  to  give  ?  Tell  me  that.  The 
white  men  took  it  from  the  Indians,  and  now  want  to 
give  it  to  me.  I  won't  have  it.  It  is  not  theirs  to 
give.  They  drove  the  Indians  off,  and  stole  their 
land  and  camping  places.  I  could  have  done  that 
myself.  No.  You  go  and  tell  your  great  father, 
the  blanket-maker,  I  do  not  want  that  land.  I  have 
got  land  of  my  own  high  up  here,  and  nearer  to  the 
Great  Spirit  than  his.  I  do  not  want  his  blankets : 
I  have  a  deer-skin ;  and  my  squaws  and  my  children 
all  have  skins,  and  we  build  great  wood  fires  when  it 
snows.  No,  I  will  not  go  away  from  this  mountain. 
But  you  may  tell  him  if  he  will  take  this  mountain 
along,  I  will  go  down  by  the  sea  and  live  on  the 
Reservation." 


TEE  RED  MEN.  137 

We  reached  the  cabin,  and  built  a  roaring  fire. 

u  Stand  your  war-club  there  in  the  corner,  Klamat," 
said  the  Prince  to  the  boy,  "and  come  to  the  fire. 
This  is  your  home  now."  The  boy  did  as  he  was  bid, 
not  as  a  slave,  but  proud  and  unbending  as  a  chief  in 
council. 

The  little  girl  had  washed  her  hands  and  face, 
thrown  back  her  long  luxuriant  hair,  and  stood  drying 
herself  by  the  fire,  quite  at  home. 

Two  more  mouths  to  feed,  and  where  was  the  bread 
to  come  from  ? 

Soon  the  Prince  went  out  and  left  us  there.  He 
returned  in  a  little  while  with  a  loaf  of  bread. 

Where  on  earth  did  he  get  it?  I  never  knew. 
Maybe  he  stole  it. 

He  divided  it  with  a  knife  carefully  into  three 
pieces,  gave  first  to  the  Indian  boy,  then  to  the  Indian 
girl,  and  then  to  me.  Then  he  stood  there  a  moment, 
looked  a  little  embarrassed,  but  finally  said  something 
about  wood  and  went  out. 

We  ate  our  bread  as  the  axe  smote  and  echoed 
against  the  pine-log  outside. 

A  certain  strong  magnet  attracts  from  out  the 
grains  of  gold,  all  the  ironstone  and  black  sand  to  itself. 
It  seemed  there  was  something  in  the  nature  of  this 
man  that  attracted  all  the  helpless,  and  weak,  and 
friendless  to  his  side.  He  had  not  sought  these  little 
savages.     That  would  have  been  folly,  if  not  an  abso- 


138  A   WOBD  FOE 

lute  wrong  to  them.  There  was,  perhaps,  not  another 
man  in  camp  as  little  capable  of  caring  for  them  as 
he.  He  had  rather  tried  to  avoid  them,  particularly 
the  boy ;  but  when  they  fell  into  his  hands,  when  fate 
seemed  to  put  them  there,  he  took  them  proudly, 
boldly,  and  trusted  to  fortune,  as  all  brave  men  will 
trust  it,  and  without  question. 

To  see  those  Indians  eat — daintily,  only  a  little 
bit  at  a  time,  then  put  it  under  the  robe,  stealthily, 
and  look  about ;  then  a  memory,  and  the  head  would 
bend  and  the  eyes  go  down ;  then  the  little  piece  of 
bread  would  be  withdrawn,  eyed  wistfully,  a  morsel 
broken  off,  and  then  the  piece  again  returned  beneath 
the  robe,  to  be  again  withdrawn  as  they  found  it  im- 
possible to  resist  the  hunger  that  consumed  them. 

But  Indians  are  strangely  preservative,  and  these 
had  just  endured  a  bitter  school.  They  had  learned 
the  importance  of  hoarding  a  bit  for  to-morrow,  and 
even  the  next  morning  had  quite  a  piece  of  bread  still. 
How  could  they  suppose  that  any  one  would  provide, 
or  attempt  to  provide,  for  them  the  next  day  ? 

The  Prince  came  in  at  last  from  the  dusk,  and  we 
all  went  out  and  helped  to  bring  the  wood  from  the 
snow. 

I  am  bound  to  say  that  I  suddenly  grew  vastly  in 
my  own  estimation  that  evening.  Up  to  this  time  I 
had  been  the  youngest  person  in  all  the  camp,  the 
most  helpless,  the  least  of  all.     Here  was  a  change. 


THE  RED  MEN.  139 

Here  were  persons  more  helpless  than  myself;  some 
one  now  that  I  could  advise,  direct,  dictate  to  and 
patronize. 

There  must  be  a  point  in  each  man's  life  when  he 
becomes  a  man — turns  from  the  ways  of  a  boy. 

I  dare  say  any  man  can  date  his  manhood  from 
some  event,  from  some  little  circumstance  that  seemed 
to  invest  him  with  a  sort  of  majesty,  and  dignify  him, 
in  his  own  estimation,  at  least,  with  manhood.  A 
man  must  first  be  his  own  disciple.  If  he  does  not 
first  believe  himself  a  man,  he  may  be  very  sure  the 
world,  not  one  man  or  woman  of  the  world,  will 
believe  it. 

We  sat  late  by  the  fire  that  night.  The  little  girl 
leaned  against  the  wall  by  the  fire-side  and  slept,  but 
the  boy  seemed  only  to  brighten  and  awake  as  the 
night  went  on.  He  looked  into  the  fire.  What  did 
he  see  ?  What  were  his  thoughts  ?  What  faces  were 
there  ?     Fire,  and  smoke,  and  blood — the  dead  ! 

Down  before  the  fire  in  their  fur-robes  we  laid  the 
little  Indians  to  sleep,  and  sought  our  blankets  in  the 
bunks  against  the  wall. 

Through  the  night  one  arose  and  then  the  other, 
and  stirred  the  fire  silently  and  lay  down.  Indians 
never  let  their  fires  go  out  in  their  lodges  in  time  of 
peace.  It  is  thought  a  bad  omen,  and  then  it  is 
inconvenient,  and  certainly  not  the  thing  to  do  in  the 
winter. 


140  A   WORD  FOE 

The  Prince  was  up  early  the  next  morning.  He 
could  not  sleep.  Why  ?  Starve  yourself  a  week  and 
you  will  understand.  I  did  not  think  or  ask  myself 
then  why  he  could  not  sleep.     I  know  now. 

He  went  to  town  at  day-break.  Then  when  we 
had  rolled  a  back  log  into  the  spacious  fire-place,  and 
built  a  fire  under  my  direction,  a  new  style  of  archi- 
tecture to  the  Indians,  with  a  fore-stick  on  the  stone 
and  irons,  and  a  heap  of  kindling  wood  in  the  centre, 
I  induced  Klamat  to  wash  his  face,  and  helped  him  to 
wash  the  blood  from  his  hair  in  a  pan  of  tepid  water. 

The  little  girl  without  any  direction  made  her 
toilet,  poor  child,  in  a  simple,  natural  way,  with  a 
careful  regard  for  the  effect  of  falls  of  dark  hair  on 
her  brown  shoulders  and  about  her  face ;  and  then 
we  all  sat  down  and  looked  at  the  fire  and  at  each 
other  in  silence. 

Soon  the  Prince  returned,  and  wonderful  to  tell, 
he  had  on  his  shoulder  a  sack  of  flour.  All  flour  in 
the  mines  is  put  in  fifty-pound  sacks,  so  as  to  be  easily 
packed  and  unpacked,  in  the  transportation  over  the 
mountains  on  the  backs  of  mules,  and  is  branded 
"  Fifty  Pounds,  Self -rising,  Warranted  Superfine." 

The  Prince's  face  was  beaming  with  delight.  He 
took  the  sack  from  his  shoulder  gently,  set  it  on  the 
empty  flour-bench  in  the  corner,  as  carefully  and 
tenderly  as  if  it  had  been  a  babe — as  if  it  had  been 
his  own  firstborn. 


THE  RED  MEN.  141 

The  "  Doctor "  came  with  him.  Not  on  a  profes- 
sional visit,  however,  but  as  a  friend,  and  to  see  the 
Indians. 

Now  this  Doctor  was  a  character,  a  special  part  of 
The  Forks.  Not  a  lovely  part  or  an  excellent  part  in 
the  estimation  of  either  saloon-men  or  miners,  but  he 
filled  a  place  there  that  had  been  left  blank  had  he 
gone  away,  and  that  was  not  altogether  because  he 
was  the  only  doctor  in  the  place,  but  because  he  was 
a  man  of  marked  individuality. 

A  man  who  did  not  care  three  straws  for  the  good 
or  ill-will  of  man,  and,  as  a  consequence,  as  is  always 
the  fortune  of  such  men  when  they  first  appear  in  a 
place,  was  not  popular.  He  was  a  foreigner  of  some 
kind  ;  maybe  a  German.  I  know  he  was  neither  an 
American  nor  an  Irishman.  He  was  too  silent  and 
reserved  to  have  been  either  of  these. 

He  was  a  small,  light-haired  man,  a  sort  of  an 
invalid,  and  a  man  who  had  no  associates  whatever. 
He  was  always  alone,  and  never  spoke  to  you  if  he 
could  help  it. 

How  the  Prince  made  this  man's  acquaintance  I 
do  not  know.  Most  likely  he  had  gone  to  him  that 
morning  deliberately,  told  him  the  situation  of  things, 
asked  for  help,  and  had  it  for  the  asking.  For  my 
part,  I  had  rather  have  seen  almost  anyone  else  enter 
the  cabin.  I  did  not  like  him  from  the  first  time  that 
I  ever  saw  him. 


U2  A   WORD  FOR 

"Come  here,  Paquita,"  said  the  Doctor,  as  he  sat 
down  on  the  three-legged  stool  by  the  fire,  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  the  Indian  girl.  She  drew  her  robe 
modestly  about  her  bosom  and  went  up  to  the  man, 
timid  but  pleasantly. 

I  knew  no  more  of  this  Doctor,  or  his  name,  than 
of  the  other  men  around  me. 

He  came  into  the  camp  as  a  doctor,  and  had  pill 
bags  and  a  book  or  two,  and  was  called  The  Doctor. 

Had  another  doctor  come,  he  would  have  been 
called  Doctor  Brown,  or  Smith,  or  Jones,  provided 
that  neither  of  these  names,  or  the  name  given  him 
by  the  camp,  was  the  name  given  him  by  his  parents. 
I  know  a  doctor  who  wore  the  first  beaver  hat  into 
a  camp,  and  was  called  Doctor  Tile.  He  could  not 
get  rid  of  that  name.  If  he  had  died  in  that  camp, 
Doctor  Tile  would  have  been  the  name  written  on 
the  pine  board  at  his  head. 

I  can  hardly  account  for  this  habit  of  nick-naming 
men  in  the  mines.  Maybe  it  was  done  in  the  interest 
of  those  who  really  desired  and  felt  the  need  of  a 
change  of  name.  No  doubt  it  was  a  convenient  thing 
for  many ;  but  for  this  wholesale  re-naming  of  men, 
I  see  no  sufficient  reason.  Possibly  it  was  because 
these  men,  in  civilization,  had  become  tired  of  Col. 
William  Higginson,  The  Hon.  George  H.  Ferguson, 
Major  Alfred  Percival  Brown,  and  so  on  to  the  end 
and  exhaustion  of  handles  and  titles  of  men,  and 


THE  RED  MEN.  143 

determined  out  here  to  have  it  their  own  way,  to  set 
up  a  sort  of  democracy  in  the  matter  of  names. 

"  I  will  bake  some  bread,  Doctor,  for  my  babies ;" 
and  the  Prince  threw  off  his  coat  and  rolled  up  his 
sleeves,  and  went  to  work.  He  opened  the  mouth 
of  his  burden  on  the  bunk,  thrust  in  his  hand,  drew 
out  the  yellow  flour  in  the  gold  pan,  poured  in  cold 
water  from  the  bucket,  and  soon  had  a  luscious  cake 
baking  before  the  fire  in  the  frying-pan. 

Bread  for  my  babies  !  Poor  brave  devil !  When 
had  he  tasted  bread  ? 

Little  Klamat  retreated  to  his  club,  and  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  corner,  with  his  head  down,  but  at 
the  same  time  watching  the  Doctor  from  under  his 
hair,  as  a  cat  watches  a  mouse  ;  only  he  was  not  the 
cat  in  this  case,  by  a  great  deal. 

The  Doctor  talked  but  little,  and  then  only  in  an 
enigmatical  sort  of  a  way  with  the  Prince.  He  did 
not  notice  me,  and  that  contributed  to  my  instinctive 
dislike.  Soon  he  took  leave,  and  we  four  ate  bread 
together. 

A  wind  came  up  the  Klamat  from  the  sea,  soft 
and  warm  enough  to  drip  the  icicles  from  the  cabin 
eaves,  and  make  the  drooping  trees  along  the  river 
bank  raise  their  heads  from  the  snow  as  if  with 
hope. 

The  Doctor  came  frequently  and  spent  the  evening 
as  the  weeks  went  by.     The  butchers'  mules  came 


1U         A   WOE  J)  FOB  THE  BED  3IEJST. 

braying  down  the  trail  ere  long,  and  we  needed  bread 
and  meat  no  more. 

The  thunder  boomed  away  to  the  west  one  night 
as  if  it  had  been  the  trump  of  resurrection  ;  a  rain  set 
in,  and  the  next  morning,  Humbug  Creek,  as  if  it  had 
heard  a  Gabriel  blow,  had  risen  and  was  rushing 
toward  the  Klamat  and  calling  to  the  sea. 

Some  birds  were  out,  squirrels  had  left  the  rocks 
and  were  running  up  and  down  the  pines,  and  places 
where  the  snow  had  melted  off  and  left  brown  burrs 
and  quills,  and  little  shells.  The  back-bone  of  the 
winter  storm  was  broken. 

To  return  once  more  to  the  Doctor :  I  can  hardly 
say  why  I  disliked  him  at  first,  or  at  all.  One  thing 
is  certain,  however,  he  was  bald  on  the  top  or  rather 
on  the  back  of  his  head ;  and  from  childhood,  I  have 
always  had  a  prejudice  against  men  who  first  become 
bald  on  the  back  instead  of  the  front  of  the  head. 

It  looks  to  me  as  if  they  had  been  running  away, 
trying  to  escape  from  somewhere  or  something,  when 
old  Time  caught  them  by  the  back  of  the  hair  as  they 
fled,  and  scalped  them  on  the  spot. 


CHAPTER  X. 


TWO   LITTLE   INDIANS. 


HE  sunshine  follows  the  rain.  There  was  a 
sort  of  general  joyousness.  The  Prince  was 
now  a  king,  it  seemed  to  me.  He  had  fought 
a  battle  with  himself,  with  fate  against  him ;  fought 
it  silent,  patient  and  alone ;  he  had  conquered,  and  he 
was  glad. 

The  great  hero  is  born  of  the  long  hard  struggle. 
Who  cannot  go  down  to  battle  with  banners,  with 
trumps  and  the  tramp  of  horses  ?  Who  cannot  fight 
for  a  day  in  a  line  of  a  thousand  strong  with  the  eyes 
of  the  world  upon  him  ?  But  the  man  who  fights  a 
moral  battle  coolly,  quietly,  patiently  and  alone,  with 
no  one  to  applaud  or  approve,  as  the  strife  goes  on 
through  all  the  weary  year,  and  after  all  to  have  no 
reward  but  that  of  his  own  conscience,  the  calm  de- 
light of  a  duty  well  performed,  is  God's  own  hero. 

He  is  knighted  and  ennobled  there,  when  the  fight 

is  won,  and  he  wears  thenceforth  the  spurs  of  gold 

and  an  armour  of  invulnerable  steel. 
J  145 


146  TWO  LITTLE  INDIANS. 

We  went  down  again  among  the  boulders  in  the 
bed  of  the  creek.  The  Prince  swung  his  pick,  I 
shovelled  the  thrown-out  earth,  and  the  little  Indians 
would  come  and  look  on  and  wonder,  and  lend  a 
hand  in  an  awkward  sort  of  a  way  for  a  few  minutes 
at  a  time,  then  go  back  to  the  cabin  or  high  up  on 
the  hills  in  the  sun,  following  whatever  pursuit  they 
chose. 

The  Prince  did  not  take  it  upon  himself  to  direct 
or  dictate  what  they  should  do,  but  watched  their 
natural  inclinations  and  actions  with  the  keenest 
interest. 

He  loved  freedom  too  well  himself  to  attempt  to 
fetter  these  little  unfortunates  with  rules  and  forms 
that  he  himself  did  not  hold  in  too  great  respect; 
and  as  for  taxing  them  to  labour,  they  were  yet 
weak,  and  but  poorly  recovered  from  the  effects  of 
the  famine  on  the  Klamat. 

Besides,  he  had  no  disposition  to  reduce  them  to 
the  Christian  slavery  that  was  then  being  introduced, 
and  still  obtains,  up  about  Mount  Shasta,  wherever 
any  of  the  Indian  children  survive. 

The  girl  developed  an  amiable  and  gentle  nature, 
but  the  boy  showed  anything  but  that  from  the  first. 
He  always  went  out  of  the  cabin  whenever  strangers 
entered,  would  often  spend  days  alone,  out  of  sight 
of  everyone,  and  stubbornly  refused  to  speak  a  word 
of  English.     At  the  end  of  weeks  he  was  untamed 


T  WO  LITTLE  INDIANS.  147 

as  ever,  and  evidently  untamable.  The  Prince  had 
procured  him  a  cheap  suit  of  clothes,  something  after 
the  fashion  of  the  miner's  dress ;  but  he  despised  it, 
and  would  only  wear  his  shirt  with  the  right  arm  free 
and  naked,  the  red  sleeve  tucked  in  or  swinging  about 
his  body.  He  submitted  to  have  his  hair  trimmed, 
but  refused  to  wear  a  hat. 

His  chief  delight  was,  in  pointing  and  making 
faces  at  the  Doctor's  bald  head,  whenever  that  indi- 
vidual entered,  as  he  stood  in  the  corner  by  his  club ; 
but  I  never  knew  him  to  laugh,  not  even  to  smile. 
The  first  great  epoch  of  his  civilized  life  was  the 
receipt  of  a  knife  as  a  gift  from  the  Prince.  It  was 
more  to  him  than  diamonds  to  a  bride.  He  kept  it 
with  him  everywhere ;  slept  with  it  always.  It  was 
to  him  as  a  host  of  companions. 

Sometimes  he  talked  in  the  Indian  tongue  to  the 
girl,  but  only  when  he  thought  no  one  noticed  or 
heard  him. 

The  girl  was  quite  the  other  way.  She  took  to 
domestic  matters  eagerly,  learned  to  talk  in  a  few 
weeks,  after  a  fashion,  and  was  most  anxious  to  be 
useful,  and  as  near  like  an  American  as  possible. 
She  had  a  singular  talent  for  drawing.  One  day  she 
made  an  excellent  charcoal  picture  of  Mount  Shasta, 
on  the  cabin  door,  and  was  delighted  when  she  saw 
the  Prince  take  pride  in  her  work.  She  was  eager 
to  do  everything,  and  insisted  on  doing  all  the 
cooking. 


143  TWO  LITTLE  INDIANS. 

She  had  a  great  idea  of  the  use  of  salt,  and  often 
an  erroneous  one.  For  instance,  one  morning  she 
put  salt  in  the  coffee  as  well  as  in  the  beef  and  beans. 
I  think  it  was  an  experiment  of  hers — that  she  was 
so  anxious  to  please  and  make  things  palatable,  she 
put  it  in  to  improve  the  taste.  I  can  very  well 
understand  how  she  thought  it  all  over,  and  said  to 
herself,  "Now  if  a  little  pinch  of  this  white  sub- 
stance adds  to  the  beans,  why  will  it  not  contribute 
to  the  flavour  of  the  coffee  ?"  Once  she  put  sugar  on 
the  meat  instead  of  salt,  but  the  same  mistake  never 
happened  twice. 

I  must  admit  that  she  was  deceitful,  somewhat. 
Not  willfully,  but  innocently  so.  In  fact,  had  any- 
thing of  importance  been  involved,  she  would  have 
stood  up  and  told  the  whole  simple  truth  with  a  per- 
fect indifference  to  results.  She  did  this  once  I  know, 
when  she  had  done  an  improper  thing,  in  a  way  that 
made  us  trust  and  respect  her.  But  she  did  so  much 
like  to  seem  wise  about  things  of  which  she  was 
wholly  ignorant.  When  she  had  learned  to  talk  she 
one  day  pretended  to  Klamat  to  also  be  able  to  read 
and  understand  what  was  written  on  the  bills  of  the 
butchers.  Her  ambition  seemed  to  be  to  appear 
learned  in  that  she  knew  the  least  about.  That  is  so 
much  like  many  people  you  meet,  that  I  know  you 
are  prepared  to  call  her  half-civilized,  even  in  these 
few  weeks. 


TWO  LITTLE  INDIANS.  149 

This  sort  of  innocent  deceit  is  no  new  thing,  partic- 
ularly in  women.  And  I  rather  like  it.  Go  on  to 
one  of  the  fashionable  streets  to-day  in  America,  and 
there  you  will  find  that  the  lady  who  has  the  least 
amount  of  natural  hair  has  invariably  the  largest 
amount  of  artificial  fix-ups  on  her  head.  This  rule  is 
almost  infallible ;  it  has  hardly  the  traditional  excep- 
tion to  testify  to  its  truth. 

In  fact,  does  not  this  weakness  extend  even  to  man  ? 
You  can  nearly  always  detect  a  bald-headed  man, 
even  while  his  hat  is  on  his  head,  by  the  display  and 
luxuriance  of  the  hair  peeping  out  from  under  his 
hat.  With  the  bald-headed  man  every  hair  is  brought 
into  requisition,  every  hair  is  brushed  and  bristled 
up  into  a  sort  of  barricade  against  the  eyes  of  the 
curious.  The  few  hairs  seem  to  be  marshalled  up 
for  a  fierce  bayonet  charge  against  any  one  who  dares 
suspect  that  the  head  which  they  keep  sentry  round 
is  bald.  That  man  is  bald  and  he  feels  it.  Only 
bald-headed  men  make  this  display  of  what  hair  they 
have  left. 

And  I  am  not  sure  but  that  nature  herself  is  a 
little  deceitful.  The  dead  and  leafless  oaks  have  the 
richest  growth  of  ivy,  as  if  to  make  the  world  believe 
that  the  trees  are  thriving  like  the  bay.  All  about 
the  mouths  of  caves,  all  openings  in  the  earth,  old 
wells  and  pits,  the  rankest  growths  abound,  as  if  to 
say,  here  is  no  wound  in  the  breast  of  earth !  here  is 


150  TWO  LITTLE  INDIANS. 

even   the   richest   and   the   choicest   spot  upon  her 
surface. 

To  go  further  into  a  new  field.  If  a  true  woman 
loves  you  truly  she  fortifies  against  it  in  every  possi- 
ble way  as  a  weak  place  in  her  nature.  She  tries  to 
deceive,  not  only  the  world,  but  herself.  To  keep 
out  the  eyes  of  the  inquisitive  she  would  build  a  bar- 
ricade to  the  moon.  She  would  not  be  seen  to  whisper 
with  you  for  the  world.  Yet  if  she  loved  you  less, 
she  would  laugh  and  talk  and  whisper  by  the  hour, 
and  think  nothing  of  it.  I  like  such  deceit  as  that. 
It  is  natural. 

The  miners  were  at  work  like  beavers.  Up  the 
stream  and  down  the  stream  the  pick  and  shovel 
clanged  against  the  rock  and  gravel  from  dawn  until 
darkness  came  down  out  of  the  forests  above  them 
and  took  possession  of  the  place. 

The  Prince  worked  on  patiently,  industriously 
with  the  rest,  with  reasonable  success  and  first-rate 
promise  of  fortune.  The  pent-up  energies  of  the 
camp  were  turned  loose,  and  the  stream  ran  thick 
and  yellow  with  sediment  from  pans,  rockers,  toms, 
sluices  and  flumes.  Never  was  such  industry,  such 
energy,  such  ambition  to  get  hold  of  the  object  of 
pursuit  and  escape  from  the  canon  before  another 
winter  set  up  an  impassable  wall  to  the  civilized 
world. 

Spring  came  sudden  and  full-grown  from  the  south. 


TWO  LITTLE  INDIANS.  151 

She  blew  up  in  a  fleet  of  sultry  clouds  from  the 
Mexican  seas,  along  the  Californian  coast,  and  drew 
up  to  us  between  the  rocky,  pine-topped  walls  of  the 
Klamat. 

At  first  she  hardly  set  foot  in  the  canon.  The  sun 
came  down  to  us  only  about  noon-tide,  and  then  only 
tarried  lon^  enough  to  shoot  a  few  bright  shafts 
through  the  dusk  and  dense  pine-tops  at  the  banks 
of  snow  beneath,  and  spring  did  not  like  the  place  as 
well  as  the  open,  sunny  plains  over  by  the  city,  and 
toward  the  Klamat  lakes.  But  at  last  she  came  to 
take  possession.  She  planted  her  banners  on  places 
the  sun  made  bare,  and  put  up  signs  and  land-marks 
not  to  be  misunderstood. 

The  balm  and  alder  burst  in  leaf,  and  catkins 
drooped  and  dropped  from  willows  in  the  water,  till 
you  had  thought  a  legion  of  woolly  caterpillars  were 
drifting  to  the  sea.  Still  the  place  was  not  to  be 
surrendered  without  a  struggle.  It  was  one  of 
winter's  struggles.  He  had  been  driven,  day  after 
day,  in  a  march  of  many  a  thousand  miles.  He  had 
retreated  from  Mexico  to  within  sight  of  Mount 
Shasta,  and  here  he  turned  on  his  pursuer.  One 
night  he  came  boldly  down  and  laid  hands  on  the 
muddy  little  stream,  and  stretched  a  border  of  ice  all 
up  and  down  its  edges ;  spread  frost-work,  white  and 
beautiful,  on  pick,  and  torn,  and  sluice,  and  flume 
and  cradle,  and  made  the  miners  curse  him  to  his 


152  TWO  LITTLE  INDIANS. 

beard.  He  cut  down  the  banners  of  the  spring  that 
night,  lamb-tongue,  Indian  turnip  and  catella,  and 
took  possession  as  completely  as  of  old. 

The  sun  came  up  at  last  and  he  let  go  his  hold 
upon  the  stream,  took  off  his  stamp  from  pick  and 
pan,  and  torn,  and  sluice  and  cradle,  and  crept  in 
silence  into  the  shade  of  trees  and  up  the  mountain 
side  against  the  snow. 

And  now  the  spring  came  back  with  a  double 
force  and  strength.  She  planted  California  lilies,  fair 
and  bright  as  stars,  tall  as  little  flag-staffs,  along  the 
mountain  side,  and  up  against  the  winter's  barricade 
of  snow,  and  proclaimed  possession  absolute  through 
her  messengers,  the  birds,  and  we  were  very  glad. 

Paquita  gathered  blossoms  in  the  sun,  threw  her 
long  hair  back,  and  bounded  like  a  fawn  along  the 
hills.  Klamat  took  his  club  and  knife,  drew  his  robe 
only  the  closer  about  him  in  the  sun,  and  went  out 
gloomy  and  sombre  in  the  mountains.  Sometimes 
he  would  be  gone  all  night. 

At  last  the  baffled  winter  abandoned  even  the  wall 
that  lay  between  us  and  the  outer  world,  and  drew 
off  all  his  forces  to  Mount  Shasta.  He  retreated  above 
the  timber  line,  but  he  retreated  not  an  inch  beyond. 
There  he  sat  down  with  all  his  strength.  He 
planted  his  white  and  snowy  tent  upon  this  ever- 
lasting fortress,  and  laughed  at  the  world  below  him. 
Sometimes  he  would  send  a  foray  down,  and  even  in 


TWO  LITTLE  INDIANS.  153 

mid-summer,  to  this  day,  lie  plucks  an  ear  of  corn,  a 
peach,  or  apricot,  for  a  hundred  miles  around  his 
battlement,  whenever  he  may  choose. 

Now  that  the  way  was  clear,  immigrants  and 
new  arrivals  of  all  kinds  began  to  pour  into  the 
camp.  The  most  noticeable  was  that  of  the  new 
Alcalde. 

This  Alcalde  was  appointed  by  the  new  commis- 
sioners of  the  new  county,  and  as  might  have  been 
expected,  since  the  place  brought  neither  profit  nor 
honour,  was  only  a  broad-cloth  sort  of  a  man.  A 
new  arrival  from  the  States,  looking  about  for  a 
place  where  he  could  sit  down  and  eat  his  bread 
exempt  from  the  primal  curse.  No  doubt  this  little 
egotist  said  to  himself,  "  If  there  is  a  spot  on  earth 
where  God's  great  tribute-taker  will  not  find  me,  it 
is  over  at  The  Forks,  on  Humbug,  and  there  will  I 
pitch  my  tent  and  abide." 

He  had  read  just  enough  law  to  drive  every  bit  of 
common  sense  out  of  his  head,  and  yet  not  enough  to 
get  a  bit  of  common  law  into  it ;  except,  perhaps,  the 
line  which  says  that  "Law  is  a  rule  of  action  pre- 
scribed by  the  superior,  which  the  inferior  is  bound 
to  obey." 

Being  austere  in  his  tastes,  and  feeling  that  he 
had  a  dignity  to  sustain,  he  made  friends  with  the 
Doctor,  and  took  up  quarters  in  the  Doctor's  cabin. 

As  is  the  case  with  all  small  creatures,  the  Judge 


154  TWO  LITTLE  INDIANS. 

came  into  camp  with  a  great  flourish  of  trumpets, 
and  what  was  most  remarkable,  he  wore  a  "  stove- 
pipe "hat  and  a  "boiled  shirt;"  the  first  that  had 
ever  been  seen  in  the  camp.  This  was  a  daring 
thing  to  undertake.  The  Judge,  of  course,  had  not 
the  least  idea  of  his  achievement  and  the  risk  he 
incurred. 

These  men  of  the  mountains  always  have  despised 
and  perhaps  always  will  despise  a  beaver  hat.  Why  ? 
Here  is  food  for  reflection.  Here  is  a  healthy,  well- 
seated  antipathy  to  an  innocent  article  of  dress,  with- 
out any  discovered  reason.  Let  the  profound  look 
into  this. 

As  for  myself,  I  have  looked  into  this  thing,  but 
am  not  satisfied.  The  only  reason  I  can  give  for  this 
enmity  to  the  "  tile  "  in  the  mountains  of  California, 
is  not  that  the  miners  hold  that  there  is  anything 
wrong  in  the  act  or  fact  of  a  man  wearing  a  beaver, 
but  because  it  invests  the  man  with  a  dignity — an 
artificial  dignity,  it  is  true,  but  none  the  less  a 
dignity — too  far  above  that  of  the  man  who  wears 
a  slouch  or  felt.  The  beaver  hat  is  the  minority, 
the  slouch  hat  is  the  majority ;  and,  like  all  great 
majorities,  is  a  mob — a  cruel,  heartless,  arrogant, 
insolent  mob,  ignorant  and  presumptive.  The  beaver 
hat  is  a  missionary  among  cannibals  in  the  California 
mines.  And  the  saddest  part  of  it  all  is,  that  there 
is  no  hope  of  reform.     Tracts  on  this  subject  would 


TWO  LITTLE  INDIANS.  155 

be  useless.  Fancy  a  beaver  bat  in  a  dripping  tunnel, 
or  by  the  splashing  flume  or  dumping  derrick  ! 

Born  of  a  low  element  in  our  nature  is  this  antag- 
onism to  the  beaver  hat ;  cruel  as  it  is  curious,  selfish, 
but  natural. 

The  Englishman  knows  well  the  power  and  dignity 
of  a  beaver  hat.  Go  into  the  streets  of  London  and 
look  about  you.  Surely  some  power  has  issued  an 
order  not  much  unlike  that  of  the  famous  one-armed 
Sailor — "  England  expects  every  man  to  wear  a  beaver 
hat." 

But  to  return  to  this  particular  hat  before  us,  it  is 
safe  to  say  that  no  other  man  than  the  Judge  in  all 
California  could  have  brought  into  camp  and  worn 
with  impunity  this  hat. 

It  is  true  there  was  a  universal  giggle  through  the 
camp,  and  it  is  likewise  true  that  the  Howlin'  Wil- 
derness called  out,  "  Oh,  what  a  hat !  Set  'em  up  ! 
Chuck  'em  in  the  gutter!  Saw  my  leg  off!"  and 
so  on,  as  the  Judge  passed  that  way  the  morning 
after  his  arrival.  But  shrewd  men  at  once  took  his 
measure ;  saw  that  he  was  a  harmless  little  egotist, 
and  in  their  hearts  took  his  part  in  the  hat  question, 
and  set  him  up  as  a  sort  of  wooden  idol  of  the 
camp. 

It  is  not  best  to  always  seem  too  strong  in  the 
presence  of  strong,  good  men.  Man  likes  to  pet 
and  patronize  his  fellow  when  he  is  weak.     A  strong 


156  TWO  LITTLE  INDIANS. 

man  will  throw  his  arms  around  a  helpless  man  and 
protect  him.  Strength  challenges  strength.  The 
combat  of  bulls  on  the  plain  !  Possibly  man  inclines 
to  uphold  the  weak  because  there  is  no  suggestion 
of  rivalry,  but  I  do  not  think  that.  Here  is  room  for 
thought. 

"It's  all  right,  boys,"  said  six-foot  Sandy,  as  he 
stood  at  the  bar  of  the  Howlin'  Wilderness,  and 
held  out  his  glass  for  a  little  peppermint :  "  It's  all 
right,  I  tell  you  !  He  shall  run  a  hat  as  tall  as 
Shasta  if  he  likes,  and  let  me  set  eyes  on  the  shyster 
that  interferes.  It's  a  poor  camp  that  can't  afford 
one  gentleman,  anyhow."  And  here  he  hitched  up 
his  duck  breeches,  threw  the  gin  and  peppermint 
down  his  throat,  and  wiping  his  hairy  mouth  on  his 
red  sleeve,  turned  to  the  crowd,  ready  to  "  chaw  up 
and  spit  out,"  as  he  called  it,  the  first  man  who  raised 
a  voice  against  the  Judge  and  his  beaver  hat  in  all 
The  Forks. 

Six-foot  Sandy  was  an  authority  at  The  Forks.  A 
brawny  and  reckless  miner — a  sort  of  cross  between 
a  first-class  miner  and  a  second-class  gambler ;  a  man 
who  vibrated  between  his  claim  up  the  creek  and 
the  Howlin'  Wilderness  saloon.  But  he  was  a  shrewd, 
brave  man,  of  the  half-horse,  half-alligator  kind,  and 
was  both  feared  and  respected.  After  that  the  beaver 
hat  was  safe  at  The  Forks,  and  a  fixture. 

To  illustrate  the  power  and  dignity  of  the  beaver 
hat  even  here,  where  reverence  and  respect  for  any- 


RECEIVING  THE  NEW  JUDGE. 


TWO  LITTLE  INBLANS.  157 

thing  that  smells  of  civilization  is  not  to  be  thought 
of,  I  may  mention  that  a  month  or  two  after  the 
event  described  above,  another  beaver  hat  put  in  an 
appearance  at  The  Forks.  There  was  not  even  a 
protest.  The  man  had  sense  enough  to  keep  silent, 
took  a  quiet  game  of  "  draw  "  with  the  boys  at  the 
Howlin'  Wilderness,  and  won  at  once  the  title  of 
Judge. 

After  dark  the  quiet  game  went  on  in  the  corner, 
and  Sandy  came  down  from  the  claim. 

"  Who's  that  ?"  said  Sandy  to  the  bar-keeper,  as  he 
threw  his  left  thumb  over  his  shoulder,  and  with  his 
right  hand  lifted  his  gin  and  peppermint. 

a  That  ?  why  that's  Judge — Judge — why,  the  new 
Judge." 

"  Judge  hell !"  said  Sandy,  wiping  his  beard  and 
looking  sharply  under  the  hat  rim.  "  I  know  him,  I 
do.  He's  a  waiter  over  in  a  Yreka  restaurant.  I'll 
go  for  him,  I  will.     He  is  a  fraud  on  the  public." 

And  he  went  up  behind  the  man,  as  he  sat  there 
on  a  three-legged  stool,  serenely  leading  out  his  ace 
for  his  opponent's  Jack. 

"  Come  down  !"  said  the  new  Judge,  gaily  ;  "  come 
down  !     I  have  you  now  !     Come  down  !" 

Sandy  raised  his  hands>  his  great  broad  hands,  like 
slabs  of  pine,  and  brought  them  down  on  top  of  the 
beaver  hat  like  an  avalanche.  The  hat  shot  down 
and  the  head  shot  up,  till  it  was  buried  out  of  sight 
in  the  wrecked  and  ruined  beaver. 


158  T  WO  LITTLE  INDIANS. 

The  man  sprung  to  his  feet,  thrust  out  his  hands, 
and  jumped  about  like  a  boy  in  "  Blind-man's-buff," 
and  Sandy  walked  back  to  the  bar,  cool  and  uncon- 
cerned, and  ordered  gin  and  peppermint. 

The  man  at  last  excavated  his  nose,  and  took  a 
bee-line  for  the  door,  amid  howls  of  delight  from  the 
patrons  of  the  Howlin'  Wilderness.  That  is  the 
usual  fate  of  beavers  in  the  mines.  They  may  be 
respected,  but  they  perish  for  all  that. 

Let  a  member  of  Congress,  or  even  of  the  Cabinet, 
go  up  into  the  ^mountains  with  a  beaver,  and  ten  to 
one  he  would  have  it  driven  down  over  his  nose. 
He  would  have  to  stand  it  too ;  he  would  have  to 
laugh,  call  it  a  good  joke,  and  treat  "  the  boys "  in 
the  bargain.  After  that  they  would  call  him  a  good 
fellow,  give  him  "  feet "  in  an  extension  of  the  "  Jenny 
Lind  "  ledge,  "  Midnight  Assassin,"  or  "  Roaring  Lion," 
and  vote  for  him,  if  he  should  be  a  candidate  for 
office,  to  the  last  man. 

I  leave  this  question  of  the  hat  now  to  those  wise 
men  of  America  who  have  rushed  out  upon  the 
frontier  a  pen  in  one  hand,  a  telescope  in  the  other, 
and,  viewing  the  Indian  from  afar  off,  decided  in  a 
day  that  he  was  a  bad  and  bloody  character. 

I  leave  this  question  to  those  teachers,  with  every 
confidence  that  their  capacities  will  prove  equal  to 
the  task.  The  subject  is  worthy  such  men,  and  the 
men  worthy  such  a  subject. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


A    MAN    FOR   BREAKFAST." 


OW  that  we  have  got  a  Judge,"  said  Sandy 
one  day,  u  why  not  put  him  to  work  ?  " 

There  had  been  a  pretty  general  feeling 
against  those  who  took  part  in  the  murder  of  the 
Indians  the  last  winter  kept  alive  by  the  miners,  and 
Sandy,  who  was  always  boiling  over  on  some  subject, 
and  was  brimfull  of  energy,  went  and  laid  the  case 
before  the  Judge  and  instituted  a  prosecution.  Here 
was  a  sensation !  The  court  sent  a  constable  to 
arrest  a  prisoner  with  a  verbal  warrant,  and  the  man 
came  into  Court ;  the  Howlin'  Wilderness,  followed 
by  half  the  town,  gave  verbal  bonds  for  his 
appearance  next  Saturday,  and  the  Court  adjourned 
to  that  day. 

Sides  were  taken  at  once.  The  idlers  of  course 
all  taking  sides  with  the  prisoner ;  the  miners  mostly 
going  the  other  way.  Sandy  took  it  upon  himself 
to  prosecute.  He  could  hardly  have  been  in  earnest, 
yet  he  seemed  to  be  terribly  so.     The  assassins  were 

159 


160  "A  MAX  FOE  BREAKFAST" 

active  in  getting  evidence  out  of  the  way,  making 
friends  with  the  Judge,  and  intimidating  all  who 
dared  express  sympathy  with  the  Indians.  The 
miners,  with  the  exception  of  Sandy,  were  rather  in- 
different. They  knew  very  well  that  this  weak 
little  egotist  would  only  make  a  farce  of  the  affair, 
even  though  he  had  capacity  to  enter  a  legal  com- 
mittal. The  giant  Sandy,  however,  held  his  own 
against  all  the  town  and  promised  a  lively  time. 

The  Indian  boy  came  home  that  night  beaming 
with  delight.  His  black  eyes  flashed  like  the  eyes  of 
a  cat  in  the  dark.  I  had  thought  him  incapable  of 
excitement.  He  had  always  seemed  so  passive  and 
sullen  that  we  had  come  to  believe  he  had  no  life  or 
passion  in  him. 

He  talked  to  Paquita  eagerly,  and  made  all  kinds 
of  gestures ;  put  his  fingers  about  his  neck,  stabbed 
himself  with  an  imaginary  knife,  threw  himself  to- 
wards the  fire,  and  shot  with  an  imaginary  gun  at 
an  imaginary  prisoner.  Would  he  be  hung,  stabbed, 
burnt  or  shot  ?  The  boy  was  so  eager  and  excited,  that 
once  or  twice  he  broke  out  into  pretty  fair  English 
at  some  length,  the  first  I  had  ever  heard  him  utter. 

The  Doctor,  as  I  said,  was  unpopular.  In  fact, 
doctors  usually  are  in  the  mines.  Whether  this  is 
because  nine-tenths  of  those  who  are  there  are  frauds 
and  impostors,  or  whether  it  is  because  miners  give 
open  expression  to  a  natural   dislike  that  all  men 


«  A  MAN  FOR  BREAKFAST:'  161 

feel  for  the  man  to  whose  ministry  we  all  have  to 
submit  ourselves  some  day,  I  do  not  pretend  to 
say. 

Even  the  Indian  boy  disliked  the  Doctor  bitterly, 
and  one  day  flew  at  him,  without  any  cause,  and 
clutched  a  handful  of  hair  from  his  thin  and  half -bald 
head.  The  Judge,  too,  disliked  the  Doctor,  and  only 
the  evening  before  the  trial  some  one,  passing  the 
cabin,  heard  the  Judge  call  the  Doctor  a  fool  to  his 
teeth. 

That  was  a  feather  in  the  Judge's  hat,  in  the  eyes 
of  The  Forks,  but  a  bad  sign  for  the  Doctor.  The 
Doctor  should  have  knocked  him  down,  said  The 
Forks. 

The  day  of  trial  came,  and  Sandy,  in  respect  for 
the  Court  and  the  occasion,  buttoned  up  his  flannel 
shirt,  hid  his  hairy  bosom,  and  gave  over  his  gin  and 
peppermint  during  all  the  examination. 

The  prisoner  was  named  "  Spades."  Whether  it 
was  because  he  looked  so  like  the  black,  squatty 
Jack  of  Spades  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  should  say  he 
was  indebted  to  his  likeness  to  that  ri^ht  or  left 
bower  for  his  name. 

There  was  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  he  had 
deliberately  murdered  two  or  three  Indian  children, 
butchered  them,  as  they  crouched  on  the  ground  and 
tried  to  hide  under  the  lodges,  with  his  knife,  on  the 
day  of  the  massacre ;  but  there  were  grave  doubts  as 


162  "  A  MAN  FOR  BREAKFAST." 

to  what  the  Judge  would  do  in  the  case,  for  he  had 
been  pretty  plainly  told  that  he  must  not  hold  the 
man  to  answer. 

A  low,  wretched  man  was  this — the  lowest  in  the 
camp ;  but  he  stood  between  others  of  a  more  respect- 
able character  and  danger.  His  fortune  in  the  matter 
was  a  prophecy  of  theirs.  The  prisoner  was  nearly 
drunk  as  he  took  his  seat  on  a  three-legged  stool 
before  the  Judge  in  the  Howlin'  Wilderness.  He  sat 
with  his  hat  on.  In  fact,  miners,  in  the  matter  of 
wearing  hats,  would  make  first-class  Israelites. 

"  Ef  I  ain't  out  o'  this  by  dark,"  said  Spades,  as 
he  jerked  his  head  over  his  shoulder  and  spirted  a 
stream  of  amber  at  the  back-log,  "I'll  sun  some- 
body's moccasins,  see  if  I  don't."  And  he  looked 
straight  at  the  Judge,  who  settled  down  uneasily  in 
his  seat,  and  placed  his  beaver  hat  on  the  table  be- 
tween himself  and  the  prisoner  as  a  sort  of  barricade. 

Two  or  three  gamblers,  good  enough  men  in 
their  way,  acted  as  attorneys  for  Spades.  They  at 
once  turned  themselves  loose  in  plausible,  if  not 
eloquent,  speeches  against  the  treacherous  savage. 
Sandy  now  introduced  his  witness  for  the  prosecu- 
tion. This  man  told  how  Spades  had  butchered  the 
babes  down  on  the  Klamat,  in  detail;  and  then 
others  were  called  and  did  the  same.  It  was  a  clear 
case,  and  Sandy  was  delighted  with  his  prosecution. 
,    The  other  side  did  not  ask  any  questions.     The 


"A  MAN  FOR  BREAKFAST?  163 

attorneys  whispered  a  moment  among  themselves,  and 
then  one  of  them  got  up,  took  the  stand,  and  gravely- 
asserted  that  on  that  day,  and  at  the  very  moment 
described,  he  was  playing  poker  with  Spades  at  two 
bits  a  corner  in  the  Howlin'  Wilderness.  Then 
another  arose  with  the  same  account ;  and  then 
another.     It  was  the  clearest  alibi  possible. 

Sandy  said  nothing,  and  the  case  was  closed.  He 
looked  black  across  the  table  at  the  defence,  and  then 
went  up  to  the  bar,  and  called  for  gin  and  pepper- 
mint, alone. 

This  was  the  first  attempt  to  introduce  law  prac- 
tice at  The  Forks,  and  no  wonder  that  it  did  not 
work  well,  and  that  some  things  were  forgotten.  All 
were  new  hands — Court,  counsel,  and  nearly  all 
present,  here  witnessed  their  first  trial. 

Poor  Sandy  had  forgotten  to  have  his  witnesses 
sworn,  and  the  Court  had  not  thought  of  it. 

The  testimony  being  all  in,  the  Court  proceeded 
solemnly  to  sum  up  the  case.  In  conclusion,  it 
said,  "  You  will  observe  that,  as  a  rule,  the  further 
we  go  from  the  surface  of  things  the  nearer  we  get 
to  the  bottom."  This  brought  cheers  and  waving  of 
hats  from  the  Howlin'  Wilderness,  and  the  Court  re- 
peated, "  I  am  free  to  say  that  the  Court  has  gone 
diligently  into  the  depths  of  this  case,  and  that,  as  a 
rule,  the  further  you  get  from  the  surface  of  things 
the  nearer  you  get  to  the  bottom.     The  case  looked 


16i  "A  MAN  FOB  BREAKFAST? 

dark  indeed  against  the  prisoner  at  first;  but  the 
Court  has  gone  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter,  and  he 
is  now  white  as  snow." 

"  Hear !  hear !  hear !"  shouted  a  man  from  Sydney, 
who  always  hobbled  a  little  as  if  he  dragged  a  chain 
when  he  walked. 

"  Snow  is  good !"  said  a  miner  between  his 
teeth,  as  he  looked  at  the  black  visage  of  the 
prisoner. 

"  You  see,"  continued  the  Judge,  "  that  things  are 
often  not  so  black  as  they  first  appear,  particularly 
if  they  are  only  fairly  washed." 

"  Particularly  if  they  are  white-washed !"  said 
Sandy,  as  he  swallowed  his  gin  and  peppermint  and  left 
the  saloon  in  disgust. 

All  this  time  a  tawny  little  figure  had  stood  back 
in  the  corner  unseen,  perhaps,  by  any  one.  It  was 
Klamat  with  his  club.  He  had  watched  with  the 
eyes  of  a  hawk  the  whole  proceeding.  He  had  drank 
in  every  sentence,  and  had  never  once  taken  his  eyes 
from  the  Court  or  the  prisoner. 

At  last,  when  the  Judge  decreed  the  prisoner  free, 
and  the  Court  adjourned,  and  all  ranged  themselves 
in  a  long,  single  file  before  the  bar,  calling  out 
"  Cocktail,"  "Tom-and- Jerry,"  "  Brandy-smash,  "  Gin- 
sling,"  "  Lightning  straight,"  "  Forty  rod,"  and  so 
on,  he  slipped  out,  looking  back  over  his  shoulders, 
with  his  thin  lips  set,  and  his  hand  clutching  a  knife 
under  his  robe. 


"A  MAN  FOE  BREAKFASTS  165 

That  evening  the  Judge  was  again  belabouring  the 
Doctor  with  his  tongue,  which  had  been  made  more 
than  ordinarily  loose  and  abusive  by  the  single-file 
drilling  process  that  had  been  repeated  at  the 
Howlin'  Wilderness  in  the  celebration  of  Spades7 
acquittal. 

"  That  little  Doctor  '11  put  a  bug  in  his  soup  for 
him  yet,  see  'f  he  don't,"  said  some  one  that  evening 
at  the  saloon,  when  the  man  who  had  heard  the 
Judge's  abuse  had  finished  reciting  it. 

"  All  right,  let  him,"  said  a  man,  who  stood  stirring 
his  liquor  with  a  spoon,  in  gum-boots  and  with  a  gold- 
pan  under  his  left  arm.  "All  right,  let  him ; "  said 
the  bearded  sovereign,  as  he  threw  back  his  head 
and  opened  his  mouth.  u  It's  not  my  circus,  nor 
won't  be  my  funeral ; "  and  he  wiped  his  beard  and 
went  out  saying  to  himself : — 

"Fight  dog,  and  fight  bar, 
Thar's  no  dog  of  mine  thar." 

The  Prince,  with  that  clear  common-sense  which 
always  came  to  the  surface,  had  foreseen  the  whole 
affair  so  far  as  the  trial  was  concerned,  and  had 
remained  at  home  hard  at  work  in  the  claim ;  I  told 
him  all  that  had  happened,  and  he  only  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

.  The  next  morning  the  butcher  shouted  down  from 
the  cabin  as  he  weighed  out  the  steaks :  "  A  man  for 
breakfast  up  in  town,  I  say !  a  man  for  breakfast  up 


166  "  A  MAN  FOR  BREAKFAST." 

in  town,  and  I'll  bet  you  can't  guess  who  it  is." 

"  Who  ? " 

" The  Judge!" 

The  man  had  been  stabbed  to  death  not  far  from 
his  own  door,  some  time  in  the  night,  perhaps  just 
before  retiring.  There  were  three  distinct  mortal 
wounds  in  the  breast.  There  had  evidently  been  a 
short,  hard  struggle  for  life,  for  in  one  hand  he 
clutched  a  lock  of  somebody's  hair.  There  was  no 
mistake  about  the  hair.  That  long,  soft,  silken,  half 
curling,  yellow  German  hair  of  the  Doctor's,  that 
grew  on  the  sides  of  his  naked  head — there  was  not 
to  be  found  another  lock  of  hair  like  this  in  the 
mountains. 

The  dead  man  had  not  been  robbed.  That  was  a 
point  in  the  Doctor's  favour.  He  had  been  met  in 
the  front,  had  not  been  poisoned,  or  stabbed  or  shot 
in  the  back ;  that  was  another  very  strong  point  in 
the  Doctor's   favour. 

In  some  of  the  northern  states  of  Mexico,  particu- 
larly at  Guadalajara,  I  remember  some  years  ago 
it  was  a  pretty  good  defence  for  a  man  charged  with 
murder,  if  he  could  prove  that  he  had  not  plundered 
the  dead,  and  that  he  had  met  him  from  the  face  like 
a  man.  These  Mexicans  held  that  man  is  not  natu- 
rally vicious  or  bloodthirsty,  and  will  not  take  life 
without  cause :  that  if  he  did  not  murder  a  man  to 
rob  him,  he  had  some  secret  and  perhaps  sufficient 


«  A  MAN  FOR  BREAKFAST:  167 

wrong  to  redress,  to  at  least  give  some  show  of 
right ;  then  if,  added  to  these,  he  met  his  man  like  a 
man  and  he  came  off  victor,  although  he  slew  the 
man,  the  law  for  that  would  hardly  take  his  life. 

There  was  something  of  this  feeling  in  the  camp 
now.  However,  if  there  had  been  an  alcalde  at  The 
Forks,  there  is  no  doubt  the  Doctor  had  been  at 
once  arrested ;  but  as  there  was  nothing  of  the  kind 
nearer  than  a  day's  ride,  nothing  was  done.  Besides, 
the  Judge  had  made  himself  particularly  odious  to 
the  miners,  and  gamblers  are  the  last  men  in  the 
world  to  meddle  with  the  law.  They  settled  their 
suits  with  steel  across  a  table,  or  with  little  bull-dog 
deringers  around  a  corner.  Sometimes  they  have  a 
six-shooter  war  dance  in  the  streets,  if  the  misunder- 
standing is  one  in  which  many  parties  are  concerned. 

As  a  rule,  a  funeral  in  the  mines  is  a  mournful 
thing.  It  is  the  saddest  and  most  pitiful  spectacle  I 
have  ever  seen.  The  contrast  of  strength  and  weak- 
ness is  brought  out  here  in  such  a  way  that  you 
must  turn  aside  or  weep  when  you  behold  it.  To 
see  those  strong,  rough  men,  long-haired,  bearded 
and  brown,  rugged  and  homely-looking,  with  some- 
thing of  the  grizzly  in  their  great,  awkward  move- 
ments, now  take  up  one  of  their  number,  straightened 
in  the  rough  pine  box,  in  his  miner's  dress,  and 
carry  him  up,  up  on  the  hill  in.  silence — it  is  sad 
beyond  expression. 


168  "A  MAN  FOB  BREAKFAST!" 

He  has  come  a  long  way,  lie  has  journeyed  by 
land  or  sea  for  a  year,  he  has  toiled  and  endured, 
and  denied  himself  all  things  for  some  dear  object  at 
home,  and  now  after  all,  he  must  lie  down  in  the 
forests  of  the  Sierras,  and  turn  on  his  side  and 
die.  No  one  to  kiss  him,  no  one  to  bless  him, 
and  say  "good-bye,"  only  as  a  woman  can,  and 
close  the  weary  eyes,  and  fold  the  hands  in  their 
final  rest :  and  then  at  the  grave,  how  awkward — 
how  silent !  How  they  would  like  to  look  at  each 
other  and  say  something,  yet  how  they  hold  down 
their  heads,  or  look  away  to  the  horizon,  lest  they 
should  meet  each  other's  eyes.  Lest  some  strong  man 
should  see  the  tears  that  went  silently  down  from 
the  eyes  of  another  over  his  beard  and  on  to  the 
leaves. 

But  the  Judge  had  no  such  burial  as  this.  Sandy 
was  on  a  spree,  and  the  gamblers  placed  Spades  at 
the  head  of  the  funeral.  They  had  no  respect  for 
the  man  and  kept  away.  Spades  was  chief  mourner, 
and  the  poor  little  man  was  laid  alone  on  the  hill- 
side, with  hardly  enough  in  attendance  to  do  the  last 
offices  for  the  dead. 

That  night  Spades  entered  the  Howlin'  Wilder- 
ness wearing  a  beaver  hat.  Sandy  saw  this,  set 
down  the  glass  of  gin  and  peppermint  untouched, 
and  went  straight  up  to  the  man.  He  seized  him 
by  the  throat  and  shook  him  till  his  teeth  smote  and 


"  A  MAN  FOR  BREAKFAST."  169 

ground  together  like  quartz  rocks  in  a  feeder  Then 
he  picked  up  the  hat  reverently  and  respectfully  as 
his  condition  would  allow,  and  laid  it  gently  on  the 
roaring  pine-log  fire.  That  was  the  last  of  the  first 
beaver  hat  of  Humbug. 

The  Doctor  appeared  out  of  place  in  this  camp  from 
the  first.  Every  one  seemed  to  feel  that — perhaps 
no  one  felt  it  more  keenly  than  himself. 

There  are  people,  it  seems  to  me,  who  go  all 
through  life  looking  for  the  place  where  they  belong 
and  never  finding  it.  This  to  me  is  a  very  sad 
sight.  They  seem  to  fit  in  no  place  on  top  of  the 
earth. 

The  general  feeling  of  dislike  that  had  always 
been  observed,  now  became  one  of  contempt.  No  one 
noticed  or  spoke  to  him  now.  He  came  to  hold 
down  his  head  very  soon,  and  to  shun  people  in- 
stinctively since  they  seemed  to  wish  to  shun  him. 

I  am  bound  to  confess,  right  here,  that  after  this 
murder,  when  the  whole  camp  seemed  turned  against 
this  shy,  shrinking,  silent  man,  when  he  was  despised 
by  all,  when  no  one  would  share  the  path  with  him, 
but  would  make  him  stand  aside  and  leave  the  trail 
as  if  he  had  been  an  Indian  or  a  Chinaman,  I  began 
to  sympathize  with  him.  When  the  world  pointed 
its  finger  and  set  the  mark  of  Cain  upon  the  man,  I 
began  to  like  him. 

This,  you    say,  seems  to  you   remarkable.     It   is 


170  "A  MAN  FOR  BREAKFAST." 

certainly  remarkable,  or  I  should  not  trouble  myself 
to  mention  it. 

There  was  now  an  expression  in  this  man's  face  that 
I  had  not  seen  before.  A  sort  of  weary,  tired  look  it 
was,  that  was  pitiful.  An  idea  took  possession  of 
me  that  he  had  grown  tired  in  his  journey  from 
place  to  place  in  the  world,  looking  for  the  place 
where  he  belonged,  for  a  sort  of  niche  where  he 
would  fit  in,  and  which  he  had  never  yet  found. 

There  are  men  who  sit  in  a  community  like  a 
centre  gem  in  a  cluster  of  diamonds,  and  who 
cannot  be  taken  away  without  deranging  and 
marring  the  whole.  The  place  of  such  a  man 
is  vacant  till  the  last  one  of  the  cluster  of  which  he 
forms  the  centre  goes  down  in  the  dust. 

There  are  others,  again,  who  grow  on  the  side  or 
even  in  the  centre  of  a  community,  like  a  great  wart 
or  wen.  They  sap  its  strength,  they  stop  its  growth, 
they  poison  it  thoroughly,  and  it  dies:  a  miserable, 
contemptible  community,  all  through  that  one  bad 
man. 

But  the  Doctor  was  neither  of  these.  He  had 
never  yet  found  his  place,  had  never  yet  taken  root 
or  hold  anywhere,  but  had  been  blown  or  rolled  or 
thrown  or  pitched  or  shuttle-cocked  about,  it  seemed 
to  me,  from  the  beginning  of  his  life;  whenever  that 
may  have  been.  A  sort  of  sour,  dried-up  apple,  that 
no  one  would  eat,  yet  an  apple  that  no  one  would 
care  to  pitch  out  of  the  window. 


"  A  MAN  FOR  BREAKFAST?  171 

I  had  always  hated  and  feared  the  man  till  now. 
The  universal  dislike,  however,  aroused  a  sort  of 
antagonism  in  my  nature,  that  always  has,  and  I 
expect  always  will,  come  to  the  surface  on  such 
occasions  on  the  side  of  the  poor  or  much  despised, 
perfectly  regardless  of  propriety,  self-interest,  or  any 
consideration  whatever. 

If  a  man  has  succeeded  and  is  glad,  let  him  go  his 
way.  What  should  I  have  to  do  with  him  ?  My  lot 
and  my  life  thus  far  have  been  with  the  poor  and  the 
lonely,  and  so  shall  be  to  the  end.  They  can  under- 
stand me. 

And  maybe,  often,  there  is  a  kind  of  subtle 
wisdom  in  this  view  of  men.  I  think  it  is  born  of 
the  fact  that  your  ostentatious,  prosperous  man, 
your  showy  rich  man  of  America,  is  so  very,  very 
poor,  that  you  do  not  care  to  call  him  your  neigh- 
bour. It  is  true  he  has  horses  and  houses  and 
land  and  gold,  but  these  horses  and  houses,  and 
lands  and  coins,  are  all  in  the  world  he  has.  When 
he  dies  these  will  all  remain  and  the  world  will 
lose  nothing  whatever.  His  death  will  not  make 
even  a  ripple  in  the  tide  of  life.  His  family,  whom 
he  has  taught  to  worship  gold,  will  forget  him  in 
their  new  estates.  In  their  hearts  they  will  be  glad 
that  he  is  gone.  They  will  barter  and  haggle  with 
the  stone-cutter  toiling  for  his  bread,  and  for  a 
starve-to-death   price  they    will  lift   a  marble  shaft 


172  "  A  MAIS'  FOE  BREAKFAST." 

above  his  head  with  an  iron  fence  around  it — typical, 
cold,  and  soulless ! 

Poor  man,  since  he  took  nothing  away  that  one 
could  miss,  what  a  beggar  he  must  have  been.  The 
poor  and  unhappy  never  heard  of  him :  the  world  has 
not  lost  a  thought.  Not  a  note  missed,  not  a  word 
was  lost  in  the  grand,  sweet  song  of  the  universe 
when  he  died. 

Save  us  from  such  men.  America  is  full  of  them. 
She  boils  over  with  them  in  a  sort  of  annual  eruption. 
She  throws  them  over  the  sea  into  abbeys  and 
sacred  places,  with  their  hats  on  ;  they  are  howling, 
hoarser  than  jackals,  up  and  down  the  Nile  and 
over  and  away  towards  Jerusalem. 

It  was  remarkable  how  suddenly  the  Indian 
children  sprung  up  with  the  summer.  No  one  could 
have  recognized  in  this  neat,  modest,  sensitive  girl, 
and  this  silent,  savage-looking  boy,  who  sometimes 
looked  almost  a  man,  the  two  starved,  naked  little 
creatures  of  half  a  year  before. 

There  was  a  little  lake  belted  by  wild  red  roses 
and  salmon  berries,  and  fretted  by  overhanging  ferns 
under  the  great  firs  that  shut  out  the  sun  save  in 
little  spars  and  bars  of  light  that  fell  through  upon 
a  bench  of  the  hills ;  a  sort  of  lily  pond,  only  half 
a  pistol  shot  across,  at  the  bottom  of  a  waterfall,  and 
clear  as  sunshine  itself.  Here  Paquita  would  go 
often  and  alone  to  pass  her  idle  hours.     I  chanced 


viitiCU**  r.  £^> 


PAQUITA. 


«  A  MAN  FOR  BREAKFAST."  173 

to  see  her  there  on  the  rim,  walking  against  the  sun 
and  looking  into  the  water  as  she  moved  forward, 
now  and  then  back7  across  her  shoulder,  as  a  maiden 
in  a  glass  preparing  for  a  ball.  She  had  just  been 
made  glad  with  her  first  new  dress — red,  and 
decorated  with  ribbons,  made  gay  and  of  many- 
colours.  The  poor  child  was  studying  herself  in  the 
waters. 

This  was  not  vanity ;  no  doubt  there  was  a  deal  of 
satisfaction,  a  sort  of  quiet  pride,  in  this,  but  it  was 
something  higher,  also.  A  desire  to  study  grace,  to 
criticize  her  movements  in  this  strange  and  to  her 
lovely  dress,  and  learn  to  move  with  the  most 
perfect  propriety.  She  practiced  this  often.  The 
finger  lifted  sometimes,  the  head  bowed,  then  the 
hands  in  rest  and  the  head  thrown  back,  she  would 
walk  back  and  forth  for  hours,  contemplating  herself 
and  catching  the  most  graceful  motion  from  the 
water. 

What  a  rich,  full,  and  generous  mouth  was  hers — 
frank  as  the  noon-day.  Beware  of  people  with  small 
mouths,  they  are  not  generous.  A  full,  rich  mouth, 
impulsive  and  passionate,  is  the  kind  of  mouth  to 
trust,  to  believe  in,  to  ask  a  favour  of,  and  to  give 
kind  words  to. 

There  are  as  many  kinds  of  mouths  as  there  are 
crimes  in  the  catalogue  of  sins.  There  is  the  mouth 
for  hash ! — thick-lipped,  coarse,  and  expressionless,  a 


174  «^L  MAX  FOR  BREAKFAST P 

picket  of  teeth,  behind  with  bread  about  the  roots. 
Bah!  Then  there  is  the  thin-lipped,  sour-apple 
mouth,  sandwiched  in  between  a  sharp  chin  and  thin 
nose.     Look  out! 

There  are  mischievous  mouths,  ruddy  and  full  of 
fun,  that  you  would  like  to  be  on  good  terms  with  if 
you  had  time,  and  then  there  is  the  rich,  full  mouth, 
with  dimples  dallying  and  playing  about  it  like 
ripples  in  a  shade,  half  sad,  half  glad — a  mouth  to 
love.  Such  was  Paquita's.  A  rose,  but  not  yet 
opened ;  only  a  bud  that  in  another  summer  would 
unfold  itself  wide  to  the  sun 


CHAPTER    XII. 


BONE  AND  SINEW. 


TILL  we  wrought,  the  Prince  and  I?  pa- 
tiently and  industriously.  So  did  thousands 
above  us  and  below  us ;  there  was  a  clang  of 
picks  and  shovels,  the  smiting  of  steel  on  the  granite, 
a  sound  through  the  sable  forests,  an  echoing  up  the  far 
hill-sides  like  the  march  of  an  army  to  battle,  clashing 
the  sword  and  buckler. 

Every  man  that  wrought  there, worked  for  an  ob- 
ject. There  was  a  payment  to  be  met  at  home ;  a 
mortgage  to  be  lifted.  The  ambition  of  one  I  knew 
was  to  buy  a  little  home  for  his  parents ;  another  had 
orphan  sisters  to  provide  for ;  this  had  an  invalid 
mother.  This  had  a  bride,  and  that  one  the  promise 
of  a  bride.  Every  man  there  had  a  history,  a  plan, 
a  purpose. 

Every  man  there  who  bent  above  the  boulders, 
and  toiled  on  silently  under  the  dark-plumed  pines 
and  the  shadows  of  the  steep  and  stupendous  moun- 
tains, was  a  giant  in  body  and  soul. 

175 


176  BONE  AND  SINEW. 

Never  since  the  days  of  Cortez  has  there  been 
gathered  together  such  a  hardy  and  brave  body  of 
men  as  these  first  men  of  the  Pacific.  When  it  took 
six  months'  voyaging  round  the  Horn,  and  imminent 
perils,  with  like  dangers  and  delays,  to  cross  the 
isthmus  or  the  continent,  then  the  weak  of  heart 
did  not  attempt  it  and  the  weak  of  body  died  on  the 
way.  The  result  was  a  race  of  men  worthy  of  the 
land.  The  world's  great  men  were  thus  drawn  out, 
separated  and  set  apart  to  themselves  out  here  on  the 
Pacific. 

There  was  another  segregation  and  sifting  out 
after  the  Pacific  was  reached.  There  lay  the  mines 
open  to  all  who  would  work;  no  capital  but  a  pick 
and  pan  required.  The  most  manly  and  independent 
life  on  earth.  At  night  you  had  your  pay  in  your 
hand,  your  reward  weighed  out  in  virgin  gold.  If 
you  made  five,  ten,  fifty,  or  a  thousand  dollars  that 
day,  you  made  it  from  the  fall  of  no  man ;  no  decline 
of  stocks  or  turn  in  trade  which  carried  some  man  to 
the  bottom  brought  you  to  the  top ;  no  speculation, 
no  office,  no  favour,  only  your  own  two  hands  and 
your  strong,  true  heart,  without  favour  from  any 
man.  You  had  contributed  that  much  to  the  com- 
merce of  the  world.  If  there  is  any  good  in  gold,  you 
had  done  that  much  good  to  the  world,  besides  the 
good  to  yourself.  What  men  took  this  line  of  life  ! 
But  some  preferred  to  trade,  build  towns,  hang  about 


BONE  AND  SINEW.  177 

them,  and   practise  their  wits  on  their  fellow-men. 

You  see  at  once  that  the  miners  were  the  cream 
of  the  milk  in  this  second  separation. 

The  summer  wore  on,  and  Paquita  remained  with 
us,  an  industrious,  lovely  little  girl.  She  was  the 
pet  of  the  camp.  She  dressed  with  taste,  and  was 
modest,  sensitive,  intelligent,  and  beautiful.  It  was 
noticeable  that  men  who  lived  in  that  vicinity  dressed 
much  more  neatly  than  in  any  other  part  of  the 
camp,  and  even  men  who  had  to  pass  that  way  to 
reach  The  Forks  kept  their  shaggy  beards  in  shape, 
and  their  shirt  bosoms  buttoned  up  when  they  passed. 
Such  is  the  influence  of  even  the  presence  of  woman. 

Klamat  was  wild  as  ever.  The  miners  would 
suppose  him  spending  his  nights  with  us,  and  we 
would  suppose  him  still  with  them,  and  thus  he  had 
it  all  his  own  way,  wandered  off  with  his  club  and 
knife  into  the  hills,  down  to  the  river,  and  slept 
Heaven  knows  where. 

At  last  one  Sunday  the  Prince  taught  him  the  use 
of  the  rifle.  This  was  to  him  perhaps  the  greatest 
event  of  his  life.  He  danced  with  delight,  made  all 
sorts  of  signs  about  the  game  he  would  kill,  and  how 
much  he  would  do  for  the  Prince.  He  was  faithful 
to  his  word.  He  began  to  repay  something  of  his 
trouble.  He  brought  game  to  the  Prince  and  to  us 
in  abundance,  but  refused  to  let  any  one  else  have  so 
much  as  a  quail. 

L 


178  BONE  AND  SINEW. 

Once  the  Prince  gave  a  shoulder  of  venison  to  some 
neighbour  boys  below  us.  Klamat  went  down  when 
the  men  were  at  work,  took  the  axe,  broke  open  the 
door,  and  took  and  threw  the  meat  over  the  bank 
into  the  claim.  This  made  him  natural  enemies,  and 
it  took  great  caution  on  the  part  of  the  Prince  to  save 
his  life. 

He  never  talked,  never  smiled  ;  a  sour,  bitter-look- 
ing face  was  his,  and  he  had  no  friends  in  the  camp 
outside  our  own  cabin.  He  stood  his  club  in  the 
corner  now,  and  used  the  rifle  instead.  In  a  few  days 
he  had  polished  the  barrel  and  all  the  brass  ornaments 
till  they  shone  like  silver  and  gold. 

Once  a  travelling  missionary,  as  he  called  himself, 
gave  him  a  tract.  He  took  it  to  Paquita,  who  held  it 
up  and  pretended  to  him  that  she  could  read  it  all  as 
readily  as  the  white  men.  This  was  one  of  her  little 
deceits.  Poor  children.  No  one  had  time  to  teach 
them  to  read,  or  to  set  them  much  of  an  example. 
How  they  wondered  at  the  endless  toil  of  the  men. 

The  Doctor  in  the  meantime  ranged  around  the 
hill  sides,  wrote  some,  gathered  some  plants,  and 
seemed  altogether  the  most  listless,  wretched,  mis- 
erable man  you  could  conceive.  He  made  his  home 
in  our  cabin  now,  and  rarely  went  to  town;  for 
when  he  did,  so  sure  one  of  the  hangers-on  about 
the  saloons  was  sure  to  insult  him.  Sometimes, 
however,  he  would  be  obliged  to  go,  such  as  when 


BONE  AND  SINEW.  179 

some  accident  or  severe  illness  would  compel  the 
miners  to  send  for  him,  and  he  never  refused  to 
attend.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  Spades,  half 
drunk  and  wholly  vicious,  caught  the  Doctor  by  the 
throat  as  he  met  him  in  the  trail  near  town,  and 
shook  him  much  as  he  had  been  shaken  by  Sandy 
some  months  before. 

Spades  boasted  he  had  made  his  old  teeth  rattle 
like  rocks  in  a  rocker.  The  Doctor  said  nothing,  but 
got  off  as  best  he  could  and  came  home.  He  did 
not  even  mention  the  matter  to  any  one. 

Shortly  after  this  Spades  was  found  dead.  He  was 
found  just  as  the  Judge  had  been  found,  close  to  his 
cabin  door,  with  the  mortal  stabs  in  the  breast, 
only  he  did  not  have  the  lock  of  hair  in  his  hands 
from  the  Doctor's  head. 

There  was  talk  of  a  mob.  This  thing  of  killing 
people  in  the  night,  even  though  they  were  the  most 
worthless  men  of  the  camp,  and  even  though  they 
were  killed  in  a  way  that  suggested  something  like 
fair  play,  and  revenge  rather  than  robbery,  was  not 
to  be  indulged  in,  even  at  Humbug,  with  impunity. 
Some  of  the  idlers  got  together  at  the  HowhV 
Wilderness  to  pass  resolutions,  and  take  some  steps 
in  the  matter,  as  Spades  lay  stretched  out  under 
the  old  blue  soldier  coat  on  a  pine  slab  that  had 
many  dark  stains  across  and  along  its  rugged  surface, 
but  they  fell  into  an  exciting  game  of  poker,  at  ten 


180  BONE  AND  SINEW. 

dollars  a  corner,  and  the  matter  for  the  time  was  left 
to  rest.  No  Antony  came  to  hold  up  the  dead  Csesar's 
mantle,  and  poor  Spades  was  buried  much  as  he  had 
buried  the  Judge  a  short  time  before. 

Some  one  consulted  Sandy  on  the  subject,  about 
the  time  of  the  funeral,  as  he  stood  at  the  bar  of  the 
Howlin'  Wilderness  for  his  gin  and  peppermint. 
Sandy  was  something  of  a  mouth-piece  for  the  miners, 
not  that  he  was  a  recognized  leader;  miners,  as  a 
rule,  decline  to  be  led,  but  rather  that  he  knew  what 
they  thought  on  most  subjects,  and  preferred  to  act 
with  them  and  express  their  thoughts,  rather  than 
incline  to  the  idlers  about  The  Forks.  He  drank  his 
gin  in  silence,  set  down  his  glass,  and  said  in  an 
oracular  sort  of  way,  as  if  to  himself,  when  passing 
out  of  the  door : 

"  Well,  let  'em  rip ;  it's  dog  eat  dog,  anyhow  !" 

But  it  was  evident  that  this  matter  would  not  blow 
over  as  easily  as  did  the  death  of  the  Judge.  True, 
there  was  no  magistrate  in  camp  yet,  but  there  was  a 
live  Sheriff  in  the  city. 

The  Doctor  went  on  as  usual,  avoiding  men  a  little 
more  than  before,  but  other  than  this  I  could  see  no 
change  in  the  man  or  his  manner  of  life. 

He  and  the  Prince  had  many  strange  theories. 
Men  in  the  mines  think  out  some  great  things,  as 
they  dig  for  gold  all  day,  with  no  sound  save  the 
ripple  of  the  mountain  stream  and  the  sharp  quick 


BONE  AND  SINEW.  181 

call  of  the  quail  in  the  chapparal,  to  disturb  them, 
through  all  the  days  of  summer.  They  come  upon 
new  thoughts  as  upon  nuggets  of  gold. 

Sometimes  they  talked  in  bitter  terms  about  the 
treatment  of  the  Indians.  They  had  humane  and  I 
think  just  and  possible  theories  on  this  subject,  which 
I  remember  very  well,  and  may  sometime  submit  to 
the  Government,  if  I  can  only  get  a  hearing  within 
the  next  ten  years.  It  will  hardly  be  worth  while 
after  that  time,  although,  after  the  Indians  are  all 
dead,  no  doubt  we  will  have  some  very  humane  and 
Christian  plans  advanced  by  which  they  may  be  made 
a  prosperous  and  contented  people. 

I  am  constantly  asked :  "  Does  not  the  Government 
interfere  ?  Does  not  the  Government  take  charge  of 
these  Indians  after  having  taken  their  lands,  and 
lakes,  and  rivers  V  Nonsense  !  The  Government ! 
The  Indian  Bureau,  Indian  Agent,  or  whatever  you 
choose  to  call  that  part  of  the  North  American  Re- 
public deputed  to  distribute  red  blankets  and  glass 
beads  to  the  North- American  Indian,  had  not  yet  put 
in  an  appearance  on  the  Klamat.  I  doubt  if  he  has 
reached  that  particular  portion  of  the  interior  to  this 
day. 

When  he  does  arrive  he  will  find  now  only  falling 
lodges  with  grass  growing  rank  about  the  doorways ; 
he  will  find  mounds  all  up  and  down  the  river  that 
were  made  by  a  continual  round  of  encampments 


182  BONE  AND  SINEW. 

reaching  back  to  a  time  when  the  Chaldeans  named 
the  stars ;  he  will  find  perhaps  an  old  woman  or  two, 
or  a  bent  old  warrior,  sitting  in  rags  and  wretched- 
ness, lamenting,  looking  back  with  dimmed  eyes  to 
another  age,  and  that  is  all. 

Twenty  years  ago  the  Indians  of  the  Forks  of  the 
Willamette,  rode  by  my  father's  cabin  in  bands, 
single  file,  a  mile  or  two  in  length.  They  rode 
spotted  horses,  had  gay  clothes  and  garments  of  many 
colours.  The  squaws  chanted  songs  of  a  monotonous 
kind,  not  without  some  melody,  as  they  rode  by 
astride,  with  papooses  swinging  on  boards  from  the 
saddle-bow,  and  were  very  happy. 

They  saw  the  country  settling  up  day  by  day,  but 
never  raised  a  hand  against  the  whites. 

The  whites  were  insolent,  it  is  true,  for  had  not 
Government  given  them  the  land,  and  had  they  not 
journeyed  a  long  way  to  possess  it  ? 

Then  the  country  was  fenced  up  and  their  ponies 
could  not  get  pasture ;  the  lands  were  ploughed  and 
the  squaws  could  not  get  roots  and  acorns.  But  worst 
of  all,  the  whites  killed  and  frightened  oif  the  game, 
and  the  Indians  began  to  starve  and  die.  Once  or 
twice  they  undertook  to  beg,  about  the  Forks  of  the 
Willamette,  but  the  settlers  set  dogs  on  them,  and 
they  went  back  to  their  lodges  and  died  oif  in  a  few 
years  by  thousands.  The  world  wondered  why  the 
Indians  died.     "They  are   passing  away,"  said  the 


BONE  AND  SINEW.  183 

substantial  idiot  who  edited  the  "  Star  of  the  West." 
"  They  are  a  doomed  race,"  said  the  minister.  I  think 
they  were. 

Less  than  six  months  ago  I  visited  this  spot.  How 
many  Indians  do  you  suppose  I  found  there  of  the 
permanent  old  settlers  ?  Two !  Captain  Jim  and 
his  squaw.  All  along  the  silver  river,  where  it 
makes  its  flashing  course  against  the  sun,  the  banks 
are  black  and  mellow,  and  the  grass  grows  tall  and 
strong  from  the  bones  and  ashes  of  the  "  doomed 
race." 

Captain  Jim  declines  to  surrender  to  the  Keserva- 
tion.  They  caught  him  once,  him  and  his  squaw, 
but  he  got  away  after  a  year  or  two,  and  not  only 
brought  back  his  own  squaw,  but  one  of  a  neighbour- 
ing tribe,  and  has  ever  since  been  dodging  about 
through  the  hills  overlooking  the  great  valley  where 
his  fathers  were  once  the  lords  and  masters,  with 
only  the  Great  Spirit  to  say  yea  or  nay  to  them. 

Captain  Jim  is  a  harmless  fellow,  and  a  good  hunter. 
Sometimes  in  harvest  he  goes  down  in  the  fields  and 
binds  wheat,  and  gets  pay  like  a  white  man.  His 
squaws  gather  berries  and  sell  them  to  the  whites. 
Sometimes  they  take  a  great  fancy  to  children,  and 
give  them  all  the  berries  they  have,  and  will  take 
nothing  for  them.  Captain  Jim  says  that  is  not  good 
management.  One  day  some  one  asked  him  why  he 
had  two  squaws.     He  studied  awhile,  and  said  he 


184  BONE  AND  SINEW. 

had  two  squaws  so  that  they  could  bury  him  when 
he  died. 

He  wears  a  stiff-brimmed  beaver  hat  with  feathers 
in  it ;  clothes  like  a  white  man,  even  to  the  white 
shirt ;  smokes  and  chews  tobacco,  swears,  and  some- 
times gets  drunk.  In  fact,  he  is  so  nearly  civilized, 
that  no  great  efforts  are  now  made  to  return  him  to 
the  Reservation. 

Some  day  soon  the  two  wives  of  Captain  Jim  will 
be  permitted  to  lay  the  last  of  the  Willamette  Indians 
to  sleep  on  the  banks  of  that  sunny  river. 

What  would  I  do  ?  It  would  be  long  to  tell.  But 
I  would  blow  the  Indian  Bureau  to  the  moon.  I 
would  put  good  men,  and  plenty  of  them,  to  look  into 
the  Indians'  interest.  I  would  set  apart,  out  of  their 
original  possessions,  good  tracts  of  land  for  each  tribe. 
I  would  pay  these  men  so  well,  if  possible,  that  they 
would  not  steal  from  the  Indians,  if  I  could  not  get 
honest  men  otherwise.  I  would  make  their  office 
perpetual,  and  I  would  make  it  one  of  honor  and  of 
trust. 

But  what  do  we  do  instead  \  We  change  the  man 
in  charge  every  few  years,  before  he  has  even  got  a 
glimpse  at  the  inner  life  of  an  Indian.  We  send  out 
some  red-mouthed  politician,  who  gets  the  place 
because  he  happens  to  have  a  great  influence  with  the 
Irish  vote  of  New  York,  or  the  German  vote  of  Penn- 
sylvania.    We   wait,  nine   cases   out   of  ten,  till  the 


s><?^ 


-$%$%$ 


7T&Z 


Sfc 


CAPTAIX  JIM. 


BONE  AND  SINEW.  185 

matter  adjusts  itself  between  the  whites  and  the  reds. 
If  the  Indians  are  peaceful,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Wil- 
lamette, why  interfere  ?  If  they  go  to  war  they  must 
be  made  peaceful.  This  is  the  way  it  has  gone  and 
still  goes  on,  to  the  eternal  disgrace  of  the  country. 
If  a  trouble  comes  of  this  clashing  together  of  the 
whites  and  the  reds,  we  hear  but  one  side  of  the 
story.     The  Indian  daily  papers  are  not  read. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  STOEM  IN  THE   SIERRAS. 

IRGIN  gold,  like  truth,  lies  at  the  bottom. 
It  is  a  great  task  in  the  placer  mines,  as  a 
rale,  particularly  in  the  streams,  to  get  on 
the  bed-rock  to  open  a  claim  and  strike  a  lead. 
When  this  is  done  the  rest  is  simple  enough.  You 
have  only  to  keep  your  claim  open,  to  see  that  the 
drain  is  not  clogged,  the  tail  race  kept  open,  and  that 
the  water  does  not  break  in  and  fill  up  your  exca- 
vation, by  which  you  have  reached  the  bed  rock. 
All  this  the  Prince  and  I  had  accomplished.  The 
summer  was  sufficiently  cool  to  be  tolerable  in  toil : 
the  season  was  unusually  healthy,  and  all  was  well. 
At  night,  when  the  flush  of  the  sun  would  be  blown 
from  the  tree  tops  to  the  clouds,  we  two  would  sit  at 
the  cabin  door  in  the  gloaming,  and  look  across  and 
up,  far  up,  into  the  steep  and  sable  skirting  forest  of 
firs,  and  listen  to  the  calls  of  the  cat-bird,  or  the 
coyote  lifting  his  voice  in  a  plaintive  murmur  for  his 
mate  on  the  other  side. 


A  STORM  IN  THE  SIEREAS.  187 

The  Doctor  would  sit  there  too,  in  silence,  close 
at  hand,  and  dream  and  forget  the  ways  of  man ;  and, 
perhaps,  think  sadly,  but  certainly  enough,  there  was 
one  place,  one  narrow  place,  at  last,  where  he  would 
fit  in  and  no  one  would  come  to  disturb  him. 

Klamat  would  come  in  with  a  string  of  quails, 
sometimes,  at  dusk,  or  a  venison  saddle,  a  red  fox  or 
a  badger,  stand  his  gun  in  the  corner  with  his  club, 
and  turn  himself  to  rest  close  at  hand. 

Paquita  would  drop  down  from  the  woods  on  the 
hill  above  the  cabin,  the  little  belle  and  beauty  of  the 
camp.  But  she  never  spoke  to  the  miners  or  any 
one,  save  to  only  answer  them  in  the  briefest  way 
possible. 

They  hardly  liked  this ;  and  they  hardly  liked  the 
Prince  from  the  start,  I  think,  anyhow.  He  was,  as  an 
expression  of  the  time  went,  a  little  too  "  fine-haired." 
He  spoke  too  properly;  he  never  "got  on  any  glo- 
rious benders,"  with  the  western  men,  nor  could  he 
eat  codfish,  or  talk  about  Boston,  with  the  eastern. 
He  took  hold  of  no  man's  hand  hastily. 

I  like  that. 

Paquita  had  a  great  deal  to  tell  about  Mount 
Shasta.  She  had  been  on  the  side  beyond.  In 
fact  her  home  was  there,  she  said,  and  she  de- 
scribed the  whole  land  in  detail.  A  country  sloping 
off  gradually  toward  the  east  and  south;  densely 
timbered,  save  little  dimples  of  green  prairies,  alive 


188  A  STORM  IN 

with  game,  dotted  down  here  and  there,  buried  in 
the  dark  and  splendid  forests  on  the  little  trout 
streams  that  wound  still  and  crooked  through  wood 
and  meadow. 

She  had  been  out  here  on  the  Klamat  on  a  visit, 
with  her  mother  and  others,  the  fall  and  winter 
before.  She  said  they  had  come  down  from  the 
lakes  in  canoes.  She  also  insisted  strongly  that  her 
father  was  a  great  chief  of  the  Modocs  and  mountain 
Shastas. 

Indians  are  great  travelers,  far  greater  than  is 
generally  believed,  and  it  was  quite  reasonable  to 
take  that  part  of  the  young  lady's  story  as, literally 
true;  but  the  part  about  her  father  being  a  great 
chief  was  set  down  as  one  of  her  innocent  fictions 
by  which  she  wished  to  dignify  herself,  and  appear 
of  some  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the  Prince. 

Still  as  there  had  been  quite  a  sensation  in  camp 
about  new  mines  in  that  direction,  it  was  interesting 
to  talk  to  one  who  had  been  through  the  country, 
and  could  give  us  some  accurate  account  of  it.  After 
that,  finding  the  Prince  was  interested  enough  to 
listen,  she  would  take  great  pleasure  in  describing 
the  country,  character,  and  habits  of  the  Indians,  and 
the  kind  of  game  with  which  the  forest  abounded. 

She  would  map  out  on  the  ground  with  a  stick 
the  whole  country,  as  you  would  draw  a  chart  on 
the  black  board. 


TEE  SIERRAS.  189 

The  feeling  against  the  Doctor  had  not  yet  Mown 
over.  It  was  pretty  generally  understood  that  the 
sheriff  or  a  deputy  from  across  the  mountain  would 
soon  be  over  with  a  warrant  for  his  apprehension. 

Why  not  escape  ?  There  are  some  popular  errors 
of  opinion  that  are  amusing.  Men  suppose  that  if 
a  man  is  in  the  mountains  he  is  safe,  hid  away,  and 
secure ;  that  he  has  only  to  step  aside  in  the  brush 
and  be  seen  no  more. 

As  a  rule,  it  is  infinitely  better  to  be  in  the  heart  of 
a  city.  Here  was  a  camp  of  three  thousand  men. 
Each  man  knew  the  face  of  his  neighbour.  There 
was  but  one  way  to  enter  this  camp,  but  one  way  to 
go  out ;  that  wTay  led  to  the  city.  We  were  in  a 
sac,  the  further  end  of  a  cave,  as  it  were.  You 
could  not  go  this  way,  or  that,  through  the  moun- 
tains above.  There  were  no  trails;  there  was  no 
food.     You  would  get  lost ;  you  would   starve. 

Besides,  there  were  wild  beasts,  and  wilder  men, 
ready  to  revenge  the  hundred  massacres  up  and  down 
the  country,  not  unlike  the  one  described.  Here,  in 
that  day  at  least,  if  a  man  did  wrong  he  could  not 
hide.     The  finger  of  God  pointed  him  out  to  all. 

Late  one  September  day  it  grew  intensely  sultry ; 
there  was  a  haze  in  the  sky  and  a  circle  about  the 
sun.  There  was  not  a  breath.  The  perspiration 
came  out  and  stood  on  the  brow,  even  as  we  rested 
in  the  shadow  of  the  pines.  A  singular  haze ;  such 
a  day,  it  is  said,  as  precedes  earthquakes. 


190  A  STORM  IN 

The  black  crickets  ceased  to  sing;  the  striped 
lizards  slid  quick  as  ripples  across  the  rocks,  and 
birds  went  swift  as  arrows  overhead,  but  uttered 
no  cry.  There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  air  nor  on 
the  earth. 

Paquita  came  rushing  down  to  the  claim,  pale  and 
excited.  She  lifted  her  two  hands  above  her  head 
as  she  stood  on  the  bank,  and  called  to  us  to  come 
up  from  the  mine.  "  Come,"  she  cried,  "  there  will 
be  a  storm.  The  trees  will  blow  and  break  against 
each  other.  There  will  be  a  flood,  a  sea,  a  river  in 
the  mountains.  Come !  "  She  swayed  her  body  to 
and  fro,  and  the  trees  began  to  sway  above  her  on 
the  hills,  but  not  a  breath  had  touched  the  mines. 

Then  it  grew  almost  dark ;  we  fairly  had  to  feel 
our  way  up  the  ladder.  A  big  drop  sank  in  the 
water  close  at  hand,  splashing  audibly;  the  trees 
surged  above  us  and  began  to  snap  like  reeds. 

There  was  a  roar  like  the  sea — loud,  louder.  Nearer 
now  the  trees  began  to  bend  and  turn  and  lick  their 
limbs  and  trunks,  interweave  and  smite  and  crush, 
and  lurch  until  their  tops  were  like  one  black  and 
boiling  sea. 

Fast,  faster,  the  rain  in  great  warm  drops  began 
to  strike  us  in  the  face,  as  we  miners  hastened  up  the 
hill  to  the  shelter  of  the  cabin.  At  the  door  we 
turned  to  look.  The  darkness  of  death  was  upon  us  ; 
we  could  hear  the  groans  and  the  battling  of  the 


THE  SIERRAS.  191 

trees,  the  howling  of  the  tempest,  but  all  was  dark, 
ness,  blackness,  desolation.  Lightning  cleft  the 
heavens. 

A  sheet  of  flame — as  if  the  hand  of  God  had  thrust 
out  through  the  dark  and  smote  the  mountain  side 
with  a  sword  of  fire. 

And  then  the  thunder  shook  the  earth  till  it 
trembled,  as  if  Shasta  had  been  shaken  loose  and 
broken  from  its  foundation.  No  one  spoke.  The 
lightning  lit  the  cabin  like  a  bonfire.  Klamat  stood 
there  in  the  cabin  by  his  club  and  gun.  There  was 
in  his  face  a  grim  delight.  The  Doctor  lay  on  his 
face  in  his  bunk,  hiding  his  eyes  in  his  two  hands. 

No  one  undressed  that  night  in  the  camp. 

The  next  morning  the  fury  of  the  storm  was  over, 
but  it  was  not  yet  settled.  We  ventured  out  and 
looked  down  into  the  stream.  It  was  nearly  large 
enough  to  float  a  steamer.  The  claim  was  filled  up 
as  perfectly  as  when  we  first  took  it  from  the 
hands  of  the  Creator.  Ten  feet  of  water  flowed 
swift  and  muddy  over  it  towards  the  Klamat  and  the 
sea. 

Logs,  boards,  shingles,  rockers,  toms,  sluices, 
flumes,  pans,  riffles,  aprons  went  drifting,  bobbing, 
dodging  down  the  angry  river  like  a  thousand  eager 
swimmers. 

The  storm  had  stolen  everything,  and  was  rushing 
with  his  plunder  straight  as  could  be  to  the  sea,  as 


192  A  STOEM  IN 

if  lie  feared  that  dawn  should  catcli  him  in  the 
camp,  and  the  miners  come  upon  him  to  reclaim 
their  goods. 

Every  man  in  the  camp  was  ruined.  No  man  had 
dreamed  of  *  this.  Maybe  a  few  had  saved  up  a  little 
fortune,  but,  as  a  rule,  all  their  fortunes  lay  in  the 
folds  of  the  next  few  months.  Every  man  had  his 
burden  now  to  bear.  The  mortgage  on  the  farm, 
the  home  for  the  old,  the  orphans,  the  invalid 
sister. 

Brave  men !  they  said  nothing ;  they  set  their 
teeth,  looked  things  squarely  in  the  face,  but  did  not 
complain.  One  man,  however,  who  watched  the 
flood  from  a  point  on  the  other  side  and  saw  his 
flume  swept  away,  swung  his  old  slouched  hat, 
danced  a  sort  of  savage  hokee-pokee,  and  sang : 

"  O,  everything  is  lovely, 
And  the  goose  hangs  high !" 

A  strange  song,  indeed ! 

To  them  this  disaster  meant  another  weary  winter 
in  the  mines — disease,  scurvy,  death.  Many  could 
not  endure  it.  They  understood  their  claims  could 
not  be  opened  till  another  year,  and  set  their  faces  for 
other  mines  which  they  had  heard  of,  further  on. 
Mining  life  is  not  unlike  life  at  large. 

We  two  had  not  saved  much  money.  And  what 
portion  of  that  had  I  earned?  I  could  not  well 
claim  a  great  deal,  surely.     How   much   would   be 


TEE  SIERRAS.  193 

left  when  the  debts  were  paid — the  butcher  and  the 
others?  True,  the  claim  was  valuable,  but  it  had 
no  value  now — not  so  much  as  a  sack  of  flour. 
There  were  too  many  wanting  to  get  away,  and  men 
had  not  yet  learned  the  worth  of  a  mine.  Some- 
times in  these  days  new  excitements,  new  diversions, 
would  tap  a  camp,  drain  it  dry,  and  not  leave  a  soul 
to  keep  the  coyotes  from  taking  possession  of  the 
cabins. 

"  What  will  you  do  ? "  said  the  Prince  to  me  one 
day,  as  we  sat  on  the  bank,  wishing  in  vain  for  the 
water  to  subside. 

"  We  cannot  reach  the  bed-rock  again  till  far  into 
the  next  year.     What  will  you  do  ? " 

"  May  I  stay  with  you  ? " 

The  strong  man  reached  me  his  two  hands — "  As 
long  as  I  live  and  you  live,  my  little  one,  and 
there  is  a  blanket  to  my  name  we  will  sleep  under 
it  together. 

"  We  will  leave  this  camp.  I  have  hated  it  from 
the  first.  I  have  grown  old  here  in  a  year.  I 
cannot  breathe  in  this  narrow  canon  with  its  great 
walls  against  the  clouds.     We  will  go." 


CHAPTER  XIV, 


A   HOUSE   TO    LET. 


HAT  night  the  Prince  talked  a  long  time 
with  Paquita  about  the  new  country  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Shasta,  and  putting  her 
account  and  my  brief  knowledge  of  the  country 
together,  we  resolved  to  go  there,  where  gold,  accord- 
ing  to  her  story,  was  to  be  had  almost  for  the  picking 
up,  if  the  Indians  did  not  interfere. 

A  new  trouble  arose.  What  was  to  be  done  with 
the  two  little  savages  ?  What  would  any  other  man 
have  done  ?  Gone  about  his  business  and  left  them 
to  shift  for  themselves.  Had  he  not  saved  their 
lives  ?  Had  he  not  fed  them  through  all  that  dread- 
ful winter  ?     What  more  should  he  do  ? 

One  morning  this  man  rested  his  elbows  on  the 
table,  and  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands  was  a 
long  time  silent. 

"  Pack  up,"  said  the  Prince,  at  last,  to  the  little 

girl.     In  a  few  moments  she  stood  by  his  side  with 

a  red  calico  dress  and  some  ribbons  tied  up  in  a 

194 


A  HOUSE  TO  LET.  195 

handkerchief  in  one  hand,  and  a  pair  of  moccasins  in 
the  other. 

The  Doctor  was  anxious  to  get  away — more  anxious, 
perhaps,  than  any  one.  For  what  had  the  camp  been 
to  him?  If  I  could  have  had  my  way  or  say,  I 
would  have  left  this  mysterious,  sad-faced,  silent  man 
behind. 

I  think  the  Prince  would  have  done  the  same. 
We  cannot  always  have  our  own  way,  even  with 
ourselves. 

Why  does  the  man  not  do  thus  and  so,  we  say  ? 
What  is  there  to  hinder  him  ?  Who  shall  say  yea 
or  nay  ?  Is  he  not  his  own  master  ?  No.  No  man 
is  his  own  master  who  has  a  conscience. 

If  this  man  had  been  of  stronger  will,  had  he  not 
been  so  utterly  helpless  and  friendless,  we  could 
have  left  him,  and  would  have  left  him  gladly ;  as  it 
was,  it  was  not  a  matter  of  choice  at  all. 

Ponies  were  scarce,  and  mules  were  high-priced  and 
hard  to  get,  but  the  Doctor  was  not  so  poor  as  we, 
and  he  put  his  money  all  in  the  Prince's  hands.  So 
we  had  a  tolerable  outfit. 

A  very  little  pony  would  answer  for  me,  the 
commonest  kind  could  bear  Paquita  and  her  extra 
dress,  while  Klamat  could  walk  and  make  his  own 
way  through  the  woods,  like  a  greyhound 

The  Prince  procured  a  great  double-barrelled  shot 
gun,  throwing  buck-shot  by  the  handful,  for  himself, 


196  A  HOUSE  TO  LET 

and  pistols  for  all,  for  we  were  going  into  the  heart 
of  a  hostile  country. 

An  officer,  it  was  rumoured,  was  on  the  watch 
for  the  Doctor,  and  Klamat  prepared  to  lead  us  by 
way  of  a  blind  trail,  up  the  mountain  side,  without 
passing  out  by  way  of  the  Howlin'  Wilderness  at  The 
Forks. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  studies,  as  well  as  one 
of  the  rarest,  is  that  of  man  in  a  state  of  nature. 
Next  to  that  is  the  state  of  man  removed  from,  or 
above  the  reach  of,  all  human  law,  utterly  away  from 
what  is  still  more  potent  to  control  the  actions  of 
men,  public  opinion — the  good  or  ill-will  of  the 
world. 

As  far  as  my  observation  has  gone  I  am  bound  to 
say,  that  any  expression  on  the  subject  would  be 
highly  laudatory  of  the  native  goodness  of  man.  I 
should  say,  as  a  rule,  he,  in  that  state,  is  brave, 
generous,  and  just. 

But  in  civilization  I  find  that  the  truly  just  and 
good  man  is  rarely  prominent,  he  is  hardly  heard  of, 
while  some  little  sharp-faced  commercial  meddler, 
who  never  spends  or  bestows  a  farthing  without  first 
balancing  it  on  his  finger,  and  reckoning  how  much 
it  will  bring  him  by  way  of  honour  in  return,  is 
often  counted  the  noblest  man  among  you. 

Therefore,  I  say  that  the  truest  men  are  those  who 
are  men  for  the  sake  of  their  manhood.    A  true  man 


A  HOUSE  TO  LET  197 

does  a  good  deed  for  the  sake  of  doing  good,  for  the 
satisfaction  of  it,  for  the  dignity  that  it  gives  him  in 
his  own  eyes,  and  not  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

You  see  some  noble  and  interesting  things  when 
the  winds  have  blown  men  away  from  the  shore  to 
where  there  is  no  law  to  punish  crime,  no  public 
opinion  to  reward  merit,  where  men  act  from  within 
and  not  from  without. 

That  aristocratic  and  highly  respectable  gentleman, 
the  Hon.  Mr.  Perkins,  of  Perkinsville,  who  gave  the 
thousand  dollars  to  the  Sanitary  Commission,  and  a 
like  sum  to  the  church,  and  had  it  published  over  all 
the  land,  received  offices  and  posts  of  honour  for  the 
same,  and  always  cherished  a  fond  hope  that  the 
facts  would  be  appropriately  set  forth  on  his  tomb- 
stone, for  which  he  had  just  contracted  with  a  dealer, 
in  finest  Italian  marble,  and  at  a  splendid  bargain, 
too,  as  the  man  was  about  to  fail  and  compelled  to 
have  the  money, — would  probably  have  acted  quite 
otherwise  here. 

Similar  deeds  done  under  the  eyes  of  an  approving 
world  might  not  take  place  in  the  mountains  where 
there  is  no  public  opinion,  no  press  to  pronounce 
a  man  a  benefactor,  no  responding  public  to  build  a 
monument.  Such  gifts'  have  their  reward  on  earth. 
In  fact,  they  are  more  than  repaid.  The  glory  is 
worth  more  than  the  gold ;  and  the  poor  are  under 
no  obligations  whatever.      "Let  not  thy  left   hand 


198  A  HOUSE  TO  LET 

know  what  thy  right  hand  doeth  "  means  very  much 
more  than  is  expressed. 

With  his  moccasins  bound  tight  about  his  feet  and 
reaching  up  so  as  to  embrace  the  legs  of  his  buck- 
skin pantaloons,  his  right  arm  freed  from  the  hateful 
red-shirt  sleeve  which  hung  in  freedom  at  his  side, 
some  eagle  feathers  in  his  hair,  and  his  rifle  on  his 
shoulder,  Klamat,  with  a  beaming  countenance,  led 
the  way  from  the  cabin. 

The  Prince  had  assigned  him  the  post  of  honour, 
and  he  was  carried  away  with  delight.  He  seemed  to 
forget  that  he  was  the  only  one  on  foot.  No  doubt 
he  would  gladly  have  given  up  the  red  shirt  and 
buckskins,  all  but  his  rifle,  with  pleasure,  at  this 
supreme  moment,  had  they  been  required,  to  insure 
his  position  as  leader. 

Alexander  gave  away  to  his  friends  the  last  of  the 
spoils  after  a  great  battle.  "And  what  have  you 
kept  for  yourself?"  said  one.  "Hope  and  glory," 
he  answered. 

Klamat  was  an  infant  Alexander. 
I  followed,  then  Paquita,  the  Poctor  next.     The 
Prince  took  up  a  piece  of   charcoal  from  the  heap 
of  ashes  outside  the  cabin,  and  wrote  in  great  bold 
letters  on  the  door : 

"To  Let." 
We  crossed  the  stream  at  a  cabin  below,  just  as 
the  men  were  beginning  to  stir. 


A  HOUSE  TO  LET  199 

They  seemed  to  know  that  something  unusual  was 
taking  place.  They  straightened  themselves  in  the 
fresh  light  and  air,  washed  their  hands  and  hairy 
faces  in  the  gold-pans  on  the  low  pine  stump  by  the 
door,  but  tried,  or  seemed  to  try,  not  to  observe. 

Once  across  the  stream,  Klamat  led  steeply  up 
the  hill  for  a  time,  then  he  would  chop  and  cut  to 
right  and  left  in  a  zigzag  route  until  we  had 
reached  the  rim  of  a  bench  in  the  mountain.  Here 
he  stopped  and  motioned  the  Prince  to  approach,  after 
he  had  looked  back  intently  into  the  camp  and  taken 
sight  by  some  pines  that  stood  before  him. 

The  Prince  rode  up  to  the  boy  and  dismounted ; 
when  he  had  done  so,  the  little  fellow  lifted  three 
fingers,  looked  excited,  and  pointed  down  upon  the 
old  cabin.  It  was  more  than  a  mile  away,  nearly  a 
mile  below ;  but  the  sun  was  pitching  directly  down 
upon  it,  and  all  things  stood  out  clear  and  large  as  life. 

Three  men  rode  quickly  up  to  the  cabin,  leaned 
from  their  mules  and  read  the  inscription.  The 
leader  now  dismounted,  kicked  open  the  door  and 
entered.  It  does  not  take  long  to  search  a  cabin, 
without  a  loft  or  even  a  bed  to  hide  under,  and  the 
man  did  not  remain  a  great  while  within. 

Without  even  taking  pains  to  close  the  door, 
to  keep  out  coyotes  and  other  things,  as  miners 
do,  so  that  cabins  may  be  habitable  for  some  way- 
farer, or  fortune-hunters  who  may  not  have  a  house 


200  A  HOUSE  TO  LET. 

of  their  own,  lie  hastily  mounted  and  led  the  party 
down  to  the  next  cabin  below. 

The  miners  were  evidently  at  breakfast,  for  the 
man  leaned  from  his  saddle  and  shouted  two  or  three 
times  before  any  one  came  out. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  very  tall,  black-bearded 
hairy  man  came  forth,  and  walked  up  before  the  man 
leaning  from  his  mule. 

What  was  said  I  do  not  know,  but  the  bare- 
headed, hairy  man  pointed  with  his  long  arm  up  the 
mountain  on  the  other  side,  exactly  the  opposite 
course  from  the  one  that  had  been  taken  by  the 
fugitives. 

Here  the  officer  said  something  very  loud,  pushed 
back  his  broad-brimmed  hat,  and  pointed  down  the 
stream.  The  long-armed,  bare-headed,  hairy  man 
again  pointed  emphatically  up  the  mountain  on  the 
other  side,  and  then  wheeled  on  his  heel,  entered, 
and  closed  the  door. 

The  interview  had  evidently  not  been  a  satisfactory 
one,  or  a  friendly  one  to  the  officer,  and  he  led  his 
men  slowly  down  the  creek  with  their  heads  bent 
down  intently  to  the  trail.  They  did  not  go  far. 
There  were  no  fresh  tracks  in  the  way.  The  recent 
great  rain  had  made  the  ground  soft,  and  there  was 
no  mistaking  the  absence  of  the  signs. 

There  was  a  consultation:  three  heads  in  broad 
hats  close  together  as  they  could  get  sitting  on  their 


A  HOUSE  TO  LET.  201 

mules.  Now  a  hat  would  be  pushed  back,  and  a 
face  lifted  up  exactly  in  our  direction.  We  had 
sheltered  behind  the  pines.  Klamat  was  holding 
the  Prince's  mule's  nose  to  keep  it  from  braying  to 
those  below.  Paquita  had  dismounted  a  little  way 
off,  behind  a  clump  of  pines,  and  was  plucking  some 
leaves  and  grasses  for  her  pony  and  the  pack-mule 
to  keep  them  still.  The  Doctor  never  seemed  more 
stupid  and  helpless  than  now;  but,  at  a  sign  from 
Klamat,  stole  out  to  the  shelter  where  Paquita  stood, 
dismounted,  and  began  to  gather  grasses,  too,  for  his 
mule. 

A  poor,  crooked,  imitative  little  monkey  he  looked 
as  he  bent  to  pluck  the  grass;  at  the  same  time 
watching  Paquita,  as  if  he  wished  to  forget  that  there 
was  any  graver  task  on  hand  than  to  pluck  grass 
and  feed  the  little  mules. 

Mules  are  noisy  of  a  morning  when  they  first  set 
out.  The  utmost  care  was  necessary  now  to  insure 
silence. 

Had  the  wind  blown  in  our  direction,  or  even  a 
mule  brayed  below,  these  mules  in  the  midst  of  our 
party  would  have  turned  their  heads  down  hill, 
pointed  their  opera-glasses  sharply  for  a  moment  or 
two  at  the  sounds  below,  and  then,  in  spite  of  kicks 
or  clubs,  have  brayed  like  trumpets,  and  betrayed  us 
where  we  stood. 

There  was  no  excitement  in  the  face  of  the  Prince, 


202  A  HOUSE  TO  LET 

not  much  concern.  His  foot  played  and  patted  in 
the  great  wooden  stirrup,  and  shook  and  jingled  the 
bells  of  steel  on  his  Spanish  spur,  but  he  said 
nothing. 

Sometimes  the  men  below  would  point  in  this 
direction  and  then  in  that  with  their  long  yellow 
gauntlets,  then  they  would  prick  and  spur  their 
mules  till  they  spun  round  like  tops. 

"When  a  man  pricks  and  spurs  his  mule,  you  may 
be  sure  that  he  is  bothered. 

A  Yankee  would  scratch  his  head,  pull  at  his  ear, 
or  rub  his  chin;  an  Englishman  would  take  snuff; 
a  Missourian  would  take  a  chew  of  tobacco,  and 
perhaps  swear;  but  a  Californian  in  the  mountains 
disdains  to  do  anything  so  stupid  and  inexpressive. 
He  kicks  and  cuffs  and  spurs  his  mule. 

At  length  the  leader  set  his  spurs  in  the  broad 
hair-sinch,  with  the  long  steel  points  of  the  rowels, 
and  rode  down  to  the  water's  edge.  A  twig  was 
broken  there.  The  Doctor  had  done  that  as  we 
crossed,  to  get  a  switch  for  his  mule,  and  brought 
down  the  wrath  of  Klamat,  expressed,  however,  only 
in  frightful  grimaces,  signs,  and  the  flashing  of  his 
eyes.  The  officer  dismounted,  leaned  over,  brushed 
the  burrs  aside,  took  some  of  them  up,  and  examined 
them  closely. 

An  arm  was  now  lifted  and  waved  authoritatively 
to  the  two  men  sitting  on  their  mules  in  the  trail, 


A  HOUSE  TO  LET  203 

and  they  instantly  struck  the  spurs  in  the  broad 
sinch,  and  through  into  the  tough  skins  of  their 
mules,  I  think,  for  they  ambled  down  toward  the 
officer  at  a  rapid  pace  and — consternation  !  One  of 
them  threw  up  his  head  and  brayed  as  if  for  life. 

The  Prince's  mule  pointed  his  opera-glasses,  set 
out  his  legs,  took  in  a  long  breath,  and  was  just 
about  to  make  the  forest  ring,  when  his  master  sprung 
to  the  ground,  caught  him  by  the  nose,  and  wrenched 
him  around  till  he  fell  upon  his  haunches. 

Here  Klamat  made  a  sign,  threw  the  Doctor  on 
his  mule,  left  Paquita  to  take  care  of  herself,  and  led 
off  up  the  hill.  We  mounted,  and  followed  as  fast  as 
possible ;  but  the  Prince's  mule,  as  if  in  revenge,  now 
stopped  short,  set  out  his  legs,  lifted  his  nose,  and 
brayed  till  the  very  pine-quills  quivered  overhead. 

After  he  had  brayed  to  his  satisfaction,  he  gave  a 
sort  of  grunt,  as  if  to  say,  "  We  are  even  now,"  and 
shot  ahead.  The  little  pack-mule  was  no  trouble. 
He  had  but  a  light  load,  and,  as  if  in  gratitude,  faith- 
fully kept  his  place. 

A  pony  or  horse  must  be  led.  Anything  but  a 
mule  will  roam  and  run  against  trees,  will  lodge 
his  pack  in  the  boughs  that  hang  low  overhead,  or, 
worse  still,  stop  to  eat  of  the  branches  or  weeds,  and 
grasses  under  foot.  The  patient,  cunning  little 
Mexican  mule  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  He 
would  starve  rather  than  stop  to  eat  when  on  duty ; 


204  A  HOUSE  TO  LET 

and  would  as  soon  think  of  throwing  himself  down 
over  one  of  the  cliffs  that  he  is  familiar  with  as  to 
injure  or  imperil  the  pack  that  has  been  trusted  to 
his  care,  by  butting  against  trees,  or  lodging  under 
the  boughs  that  hang  above  the  trail.  He  stops  the 
instant  the  pack  is  loose,  or  anything  falls  to  the 
ground,  and  refuses  to  move  till  all  is  made  right. 

"We  could  not  keep  pace  with  Klamat,  hasten  as 
we  might,  through  the  pines.  Like  a  spirit,  he 
darted  here  and  there  through  the  trees,  urging  and 
beckoning  all  the  time  for  us  to  follow  faster. 

We  could  not  see  our  pursuers  now,  yet  we  knew 
too  well  that  they  were  climbing  fast  as  their  strong- 
limbed  sturdy  mules  would  serve  them,  the  hill  that 
we  had  climbed  an  hour  before.  The  advantage, 
on  one  hand,  was  theirs ;  on  the  other,  we  had  things 
somewhat  our  own  way.  The  chances  were  about 
evenly  balanced  for  escape  without  blood. 

Any  one  who  frequents  the  mountains  of  the  north 
will  soon  notice  that  on  all  the  hill-sides  facing  the 
sun  there  is  no  undergrowth.  You  may  ride  there, 
provided  you  do  not  wedge  in  between  the  trees  that 
grow  too  close  together  to  let  you  pass,  or  go  under 
a  hanging  bough,  the  same  as  in  a  park.  But  if  you 
get  on  the  north  side  of  the  hill,  you  find  an  under- 
growth that  is  almost  impassable  for  man  or  beast. 
Chaparral,  manzanita,  madrono,  plum,  white  thorn, 
and  many  other  kinds  of  shrubs  and  trees,  contribute 


A  HOUSE  TO  LET. 


205 


to  make  a  perfectly  safe  retreat  from  men  for  the  wild 
beasts  of  those  regions.  In  a  flight,  this  is  the  chief 
thing  to  do.  Keep  yonr  eye  on  the  lay  of  the  hills, 
so  that  you  may  always  be  on  the  south  side,  or  you 
will  find  yourself  in  a  net. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

TURN  TO  THE  EIGHT  AS  THE  LAW  DIRECTS. 

NOTHEE.  danger  lies  in  getting  too  low 
down  on  the  hillside  to  the  sea.  On  that 
side,  where  only  grass  has  grown  and 
pine-quills  fallen  without  any  undergrowth  to  hold 
them  there,  and  contribute  its  own  decaying  and  cast- 
off  clothes  to  the  soil,  the  ground  is  often  broken, 
and,  unlike  the  north  side  of  the  hills,  shows  here  and 
there  steep  bluffs  and  impassable,  basaltic  blocks,  or 
slides  of  slate  or  shale  on  which  it  would  be  madness 
to  venture. 

The  only  safe  thing  to  do  is  to  find  the  summit, 
and  keep  along  the  backbone  of  the  mountain,  and 
thus  escape  the  chaparral  nets  of  the  north  and  the 
precipices  of  the  south. 

Great  skill  consists  in  being  able  to  reach  the 
summit  successfully,  and  still  greater  in  keeping 
along  the  backbone  when  it  is  once  reached,  and  not 
follow  off  on  one  of  the  spurs  that  often  shoot  up 
higher  than  the  back  of  the  main  ridge.     There  are 

206 


TURN  TO  TEE  RIGHT.  207 

many  trails  here,  made  by  game  going  to  and  fro  in 
the  warm  summer  days,  or  in  crossing  the  ridges  in 
their  semi-annual  migrations  down  to  the  rivers  and 
back  again  to  the  mountains. 

The  temptations  to  take  one  of  these  trails  and 
abandon  the  proper  one,  which  is  often  dim  and 
sometimes  wholly  indistinct,  are  many.  It  takes  the 
shrewdest  mountaineer  to  keep  even  so  much  as 
for  one  day's  journey  along  the  backbone  without 
once  being  led  aside  down  the  spurs  into  the  nets 
of  chaparral,  or  above  the  impassable  crags  and 
precipices.  Of  course,  when  you  can  retrace  your 
steps  it  is  a  matter  of  no  great  moment ;  you  will  only 
lose  your  time.    But  with  us  there  was  no  going  back. 

When  we  had  reached  the  second  bench  we  turned 
to  look.  Soon  the  heads  of  the  men  were  seen  to 
shoot  above  the  rim  of  the  bench  below ;  perhaps  less 
than  a  mile  away.  No  doubt  they  caught  sight  of  us 
now,  for  the  hand  of  the  officer  lifted,  pointed  in  this 
direction,  and  he  settled  his  spurs  in  his  sinch,  and 
led  his  men  in  pursuit. 

Deliberately  the  Prince  dismounted,  set  his  saddle 
well  forward,  and  drew  the  sinch  tight  as  possible. 

We  all  did  the  same ;  mounted  then,  and  followed 
little  Klamat,  who  had  by  this  time  set  both  arms 
free  from  the  odious  red  shirt  which  was  now  belted 
about  the  waist,  up  the  hill  as  fast  as  we  could 
follow. 


208  TURN  TO  TEE  BIGHT. 

We  reached  the  summit  of  the  ridge.  Scintilla- 
tions from  the  flashing  snows  of  Mount  Shasta 
shimmered  through  the  trees,  and  a  breath  of  air 
came  across  from  the  Klamat  lakes  and  the  Modoc 
land  beyond,  as  if  to  welcome  us  from  the  dark,  deep 
canon  with  its  leaden  fringe,  and  lining  of  dark  and 
eternal  green.  , 

The  Doctor  pushed  his  hat  back  from  his  brow 
and  faintly  smiled.  He  was  about  to  kiss  his  hand 
to  the  splendid  and  majestic  mountain  showing  in 
bars  and  sections  through  the  trees,  but  looked 
around,  caught  the  eye  of  Klamat,  and  his  hand  fell 
timidly  to  his  side. 

As  for  Paquita,  she  leaped  from  her  pony  and  put 
out  her  arms.  Her  face  was  radiant  with  delight. 
Beautiful  with  divine  beauty,  she  arched  her  hand 
above  her  brow,  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  the 
mountain,  and  then,  in  a  wild  and  unaccountable  sort 
of  ecstasy,  turned  suddenly,  threw  her  arms  about 
her  pony's  neck,  embraced  him  passionately  and 
kissed  his  tawny  nose. 

We  had  been  buried  in  that  canon  for  so  long. 
We  were  like  men  who  had  issued  from  a  dungeon. 
As  for  myself,  I  was  much  as  usual;  I  clasped 
and  twisted  my  hands  together  as  I  let  my  reins  fall 
on  my  horse's  neck,  and  said  nothing. 

Our  animals  were  mute  now,  too ;  no  mule  of  the 
party  could  have  been  induced  to  bray.     They  were 


AS  THE  LA  W  DIRECTS.  209 

tired,  dripping  with  sweat,  and  held  their  brown 
noses  low  and  close  to  the  ground,  without  at- 
tempting to  touch  the  weeds  or  grasses. 

Klamat  threw  up  his  hand.  The  men  had  appeared 
on  the  bench  below.  We  had  evidently  gained  on 
them  considerably,  for  here  we  had  ten  minutes'  rest 
before  they  broke  over  the  mountain  bench  beneath. 
This  was  encouraging.  No  doubt  a  saddle  had 
slipped  off  back  over  a  mule's  rump  in  some  steep 
place  they  had  just  mounted,  and  thus  caused  the 
delay,  for  they  had  neglected  to  sinch  their  saddles  in 
their  great  haste. 

They  dismounted  now,  and  settled  their  saddles. 
We  tightened  our  saddles  also.  This  was  the  sum- 
mit, and  now  came  the  demand  for  skill. 

When  the  officer  threw  his  leg  over  the  macheers 
of  his  saddle  below,  Klamat  set  forward.  His  skill 
was  as  wonderful  as  his  endurance.  Being  now  on 
the  summit,  he  could  travel  without  halting  to 
breathe ;  this,  of  course  would  be  required  if  he  hoped 
to  keep  ahead.  And  even  then,  where  would  it  all 
end  ?  It  is  most  likely  no  one  had  thought  of  that. 
For  my  part,  I  kept  watching  the  sun  and  wishing 
for  night. 

This  is  an  instinctive  desire  of  all  things  rational 
or  irrational,  I  think,  that  are  compelled  to  fly — 

"  0  that  night  or  Blucher  would  come." 

It  was    hardly  possible   to   keep   ahead   of    our 


210  TURN  TO  THE  BIGHT 

pursuers  all  day,  well  mounted  as  they  were,  and 
one  of  our  party  on  foot,  yet  that  seemed  to  be  the 
only  hope.  There  yet  was  an  alternative,  if  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst.  We  could  ambush  and  shoot 
them  down.  I  saw  that  Klamat  kept  an  eye  con- 
stantly on  his  rifle  when  not  foxing  the  trail  and 
eyeing  the  pursuers. 

The  Prince  was  well  armed.  He  carried  his 
double-barrelled  piece  before  him  in  the  saddle-bow. 
The  rest  of  us  were  not  defenceless.  The  deed  was 
more  than  possible. 

These  men  wanted  the  Doctor :  him  only,  so  far  as 
we  knew.  The  Doctor  was  accused  of  murder. 
The  officer,  no  doubt,  had  due  process,  and  the  legal 
authority  to  take  him.  To  the  Prince  he  was  nothing 
much.  He  was  no  equal  in  physical  or  mental 
capacity.  He  was  failing  in  health  and  in  strength, 
and  could  surely  be  of  no  future  possible  use  to  us. 
Why  should  the  Prince  take  life,  or  even  imperil  ours 
for  his  sake  ? 

The  answer,  no  doubt,  would  be  very  unsatis- 
factory to  the  civilized  world,  but  it  was  enough  for 
the  Prince.  The  man  needed  his  help.  The  man 
was  almost  helpless.  This,  perhaps,  was  the  first 
and  strongest  reason  for  his  course.  There  is  a 
great  deal  in  this  chivalrous  disposition  to  shield  the 
weak. 

When  woman  arises  and  asserts  herself,  as  the 


AS  TEE  LA  W  DIRECTS.  211 

sharp-tongued,  thin-lipped  puritaness  proposes,  and 
is  no  longer  dependent,  man's  arm  will  no  longer  be 
reached  as  a  shield,  but  as  a  sword. 

Whenever  woman  succeeds  in  making  herself  a 
soldier  she  must  fight.  The  beasts  of  the  field  will 
fight  to  the  death  for  the  young  while  they  are  help- 
less ;  but  when  they  grow  strong  and  swift  the  beasts 
of  the  field  will  run  away  and  leave  them  to  their 
fate,  or  even  fight  against  them  when  they  are 
strong,  as  bravely  as  they  did  for  them  when  they 
were  weak. 

At  the  bottom  of  all  other  reasons  for  taking  care 
of  this  man,  who  seemed  to  become  every  day  less 
capable  of  taking  care  of  himself,  was  a  little  poetical 
fact  not  forgotten.  This  man  furnished  bread  when 
we  were  hungry — when  the  snow  was  deep,  when  the 
earth  lay  in  a  lock-jaw,  as  it  were,  and  could  not  open 
her  mouth  to  us. 

Now  and  then  Klamat  would  turn  his  eyes  over 
his  shoulder,  toss  his  head,  and  urge  on.  The  eagle- 
feathers  in  his  black  hair,  as  if  glad  to  get  back  again 
in  the  winds  of  Shasta,  floated  and  flew  back  at  us, 
and  we  followed  as  if  we  followed  a  banner.  A  black 
banner,  this  we  followed,  made  of  the  feathers  of  a 
fierce  and  bloody  bird.  Where  would  it  lead  us? 
No  buccaneers  of  the  sea  were  freer,  wilder,  braver 
at  heart  than  we.     Where  would  it  lead  us  ? 

One  thing  was  fearfully  against  us.     The  recent 


212  TURN  TO  THE  RIGHT 

rains  had  made  the  ground  soft  and  spongy.  The 
four  horses  made  a  trail  that  could  be  followed  on 
the  run.  Even  where  the  pine-quills  lay  thickest, 
the  ground  would  be  broken  here  and  there  so  as  to 
leave  little  doubt  or  difficulty  to  our  pursuers. 

Had  it  been  a  dry  autumn  the  ground  would  have 
been  hard  as  an  adobe,  and  we  might  have  dodged 
to  one  side  almost  anywhere,  and,  providing  our 
mules  did  not  smell  and  hail  the  passing  party, 
escaped  with  impunity.  As  it  was,  nothing  seemed 
left  but  to  persist  in  flight  to  the  uttermost.  And 
this  we  did. 

We  did  not  taste  food.  We  had  not  tasted  water 
since  sunrise,  and  it  was  now  far  in  the  afternoon. 
The  Doctor  began  to  sit  with  an  unsteady  motion  in 
his  saddle.  The  mules  were  beginning  to  bray ;  this 
time  from  distress,  and  not  excess  of  spirits.  The 
Prince's  mule  had  his  tongue  hanging  out  between 
his  teeth,  and,  what  was  worse,  his  ears  began  to  flop 
to  and  fro  as  if  they  had  wilted  in  the  sun.  Some 
mules  put  their  tongues  out  through  their  teeth  and 
go  very  well  for  days  after ;  but  when  a  mule  lets  his 
ears  swing,  he  has  lost  his  ambition,  and  is  not  to  be 
depended  on  much  longer. 

A  good  mountain  mule  should  not  tire  short  of  a 
week,  but  there  is  human  nature  wherever  there  is  a 
bargain  to  be  made,  and  there  are  mule  jockeys  as 
well  as  horse  jockeys  even  in  the  mountains;   and 


AS  THE  LA  W  DIRECTS.  213 

you  cannot  pick  up  good  mules  when  you  like,  either 
for  love  or  money.  The  men  who  followed  had,  no 
doubt,  a  tried  and  trusty  stock.  Things  began  to 
look  critical. 

The  only  thing  that  seemed  unaffected  was  Klamat. 
Two  or  three  times  through  the  day  he  had  stood 
his  rifle  against  a  pine,  drew  his  belt  a  knot  or  two 
tighter,  fastened  his  moccasin-strings  over,  and  then 
dashed  ahead  without  a  word.  Our  banner  of  eagle 
feathers  still  floated  defiantly,  and  promised  to  lead 
even  further  than  we  could  follow.  Closer  and 
closer  came  the  pursuers.  We  could  see  them 
striking  their  steel  spurs  in  their  sinches  as  if 
they  would  lift  their  tired  mules  along  with  their 
heels. 

Once  they  were  almost  within  hail ;  but  a  saddle 
slipped,  and  they  lost  at  least  ten  minutes  with  a 
fractious  mule,  that  for  a  time  concluded  not  to  be 
sinched  a^ain  till  it  had  taken  rest. 

The  sugar-pines  dropped  their  rich  and  delicate 
nuts  as  we  rode  by,  from  pyramid  cones  as  long  as 
your  arm,  and  little  foxy -looking  pine  squirrels  with 
pink  eyes,  stopped  from  their  work  of  hoarding  them 
for  winter,  to  look  or  chatter  at  us  as  we  hurried 
breathless  and  wearily  past. 

Mount  Shasta  still  flashed  down  upon  us  through 
the  dark  rich  boughs  of  fir  and  pine,  but  did  not 
thrill  us  now. 


214  TURN  TO  THE  EIGHT 

When  the  body  is  tired,  the  mind  is  tired  too. 
You  get  surfeited  with  grandeur  at  such  a  time.  No 
doubt  the  presence  tames  you  somewhat,  tones 
down  the  rugged  points  in  you  that  would  like  to 
find  expression ;  that  would  find  expression  in  fretful 
words  but  for  this  greatness  which  shows  you  how 
small  you  are ;  but  you  are  subdued  rather  than 
elevated. 

Suddenly  Klamat  led  off  to  the  right  as  if  forsaking 
the  main  summit  for  a  spur.  This  seemed  a  bad  sign. 
The  Prince  said  nothing.  At  any  other  time  I  dare 
say  he  would  have  protested. 

We  had  no  time  to  dispute  now ;  besides,  almost 
any  change  from  this  toilsome  and  eternal  run  was  a 
relief.  What  made  things  seem  worse,  however,  this 
boy  seemed  to  be  leading  us  back  again  to  The  Forks. 
We  were  edging  around  at  right  angles  with  our  pur- 
suers. They  could  cut  across  if  we  kept  on,  and 
head  us  off.  We  were  making  more  than  a  crescent ; 
the  boy  was  leading  us  right  back  to  the  men  we 
wished  to  escape. 

Soon  he  went  out  on  a  point  and  stopped.  He 
beckoned  us  to  ride  up.  We  did  so.  It  seemed  less 
than  half  a  mile  to  a  point  we  had  passed  less  than 
an  hour  since,  and,  as  far  as  we  could  see,  there 
was  only  a  slight  depression  between.  The  officer 
and  his  party  soon  came  in  sight.  As  they  did  so 
he  raised  his  arm.     We  were  not  unobserved. 


AS  TEE  LA  W  DIRECTS.  215 

Klarnat  sat  down  to  rest,  and  made  signs  that  we 
should  dismount.  I  looked  at  the  Prince  to  see 
what  he  would  do.  He  swung  himself  to  the  ground, 
looking  tired  and  impatient,  and  we  all  did  the  same. 
The  Doctor  could  not  keep  his  feet,  but  lay  down, 
helpless,  on  the  brown  bed  of  quills  from  the  sugar- 
pines  that  clustered  around  and  crowned  the  point 
where  we  had  stopped  to  rest. 

The  officer  and  his  men  looked  to  their  catenas ; 
each  drew  out  a  pistol,  revolved  the  cylinder,  settled 
the  powder  back  in  the  tubes  by  striking  the  ivory 
handles  gently  on  the  saddle  pommels,  saw  that  each 
nipple  still  held  its  cap,  and  then  spurred  their 
mules  down  the  hillside  as  if  to  cross  the  depression 
that  lay  between,  and  head  us  off  at  once.  They 
were  almost  within  hail,  and  I  thought  I  could  hear 
the  clean  sharp  click  of  the  steel  bells  on  their  Spanish 
spurs  as  they  descended  and  disappeared  among  the 
tree-tops  as  if  going  down  into  a  sea. 

Klamat  had  learned  some  comic  things  in  camp, 
even  though  he  had  not  learned,  or  pretended  he 
had  not  learned,  to  talk.  When  the  men  had  dis- 
appeared among  the  branches  of  the  trees,  he  turned 
to  the  Prince  and  gravely  lifted  his  thumb  to  his 
nose,  elevated  his  fingers  in  the  air,  and  wriggled 
them  in  the  direction  of  the  place  where  the  officer 
was  seen  to  descend. 

Every  moment  I  expected  to  see  the  muzzles  of 


216  TURN  TO  THE  BIGHT 

those  pistols  thrust  up  through  the  pines  as  the 
three  men  turned  the  brow  of  the  hill.  They  did 
not  appear,  however,  and  as  we  arose  to  adjust  our 
saddles  after  some  time,  I  stepped  to  the  rim  of  the 
hill  and  looked  over  to  the  north  side.  The  hill  was 
steep  and  rugged,  with  a  ledge,  and  lined  with  chap- 
parral.  A  white-tailed  rabbit  came  through,  sat  down, 
and  looked  back  into  the  canon.  Some  quails  started 
and  flew  to  one  side,  but  that  was  all  I  saw  or  heard. 

The  Doctor  had  to  be  assisted  to  his  saddle.  He 
was  pale,  and  his  lips  were  parched  and  swollen. 
Slowly  now  Klamat  walked  ahead ;  he,  too,  was  tired. 
We  had  rested  too  long,  perhaps.  You  cannot  get 
an  Indian  to  sit  down  when  on  a  long  and  severe 
journey,  unless  compelled  to,  to  rest  others.  The 
cold  and  damp  creeps  into  the  joints,  and  you  get 
stiff  and  tenfold  more  tired  than  before.  Great  as 
the  temptation  is  to  rest,  you  should  first  finish  your 
race,  the  whole  day's  journey,  before  you  let  your 
nerves  relax. 

Slowly  as  we  moved,  however,  our  pursuers  did 
not  reappear.  We  were  still  on  the  ridge,  in  spite 
of  the  sharp  and  eccentric  turn  it  had  taken  around 
the  head  of  the  river. 

As  the  sun  went  down,  broad,  blood-red  ban- 
ners ran  up  to  the  top  of  Shasta,  and  streamed 
away  to  the  south  in  hues  of  gold;  streamed  and 
streamed  as  if  to  embrace  the  universe  in  one  great 


AS  TEE  LA  W  DIRECTS.  217 

union  beneath  one  banner.  Then  the  night  came  down 
as  suddenly  on  the  world  as  the  swoop  of  an  eagle. 

The  Doctor,  who  had  all  the  afternoon  kept  an 
uncertain  seat,  now  leaned  over  on  his  mule's  mane, 
and  had  fallen,  but  for  the  Prince  who  was  riding  at 
his  side. 

Klamat  came  back  and  set  his  rifle  against  a  pine. 
"We  laid  the  feeble  man  on  the  bed  of  quills,  loosened 
the  sinches  as  the  mules  and  ponies  let  their  noses 
droop  almost  to  the  ground,  and  prepared  to  spend 
the  night.  This  was  imperative.  It  was  impossible  to 
go  farther.  That  would  have  been  the  death  of  the 
man  we  wished  to  save. 

A  severe  ride  in  the  mountains  at  any  time  is  a 
task.  Your  neck  is  wrenched,  and  your  limbs  are 
weary  as  you  leap  this  log  or  tumble  and  stumble 
your  tired  animal  over  this  pile  of  rocks  or  through 
that  sink  of  mud,  until  you  are  tired  enough  by  night ; 
but  when  you  ride  an  awkward  and  untrained  mule, 
when  you  have  not  sat  a  horse  for  a  year,  and  have 
an  old  saddle  that  fits  you  like  an  umbrella  or  a 
barrel,  you  get  tired,  stiff-limbed,  and  used  up  in  a 
way  that  is  indescribable.  As  for  poor  Paquita  she 
was  literally  crucified,  but  went  about  picking  up 
quills  for  beds  for  all,  and  never  once  murmured. 

The  Doctor  was  very  ill.  Klamat  went  down  the 
hill-side  and  found  some  water  to  wet  his  lips,  but 
this  did  not  revive  him.     It  was  a  cold  evening.     The 


218  TV  EN  TO  THE  EIGHT 

autumn  wind  came  pitching  down  from  the  Shasta, 
sharp  and  sudden.  The  old  Frost  King,  who  had 
been  driven  to  the  mountain-top  in  the  early  summer, 
was  descending  now  by  degrees  to  reclaim  his 
original  kingdom. 

We  unpacked  the  little  mule  and  spread  a  bed  for 
the  suffering  man,  but  still  he  shivered  and  shook, 
and  we  could  not  get  him  warm.  We,  too,  were 
suffering  from  the  cold.  We  could  hardly  move 
when  we  had  rested  a  moment  and  let  the  cold 
drive  back  the  perspiration,  and  drive  the  chill  to 
the  marrow. 

"  A  fire,"  said  the  Prince. 

Klamat  protested  against  it.  The  sick  man  grew 
worse.     Something  warm  would  restore  him. 

We  must  have  a  fire.  Paquita  gathered  up  some 
pine  knots  from  the  hill  side.  A  match  was  struck 
in  the  quills.  The  mules  started,  lifted  their  noses, 
but  hardly  moved  as  the  fire  sprung  up  like  a  giant 
full-grown,  and  reached  for  the  cones  of  the  sugar- 
pines  overhead.  There  was  comfort  and  companion- 
ship in  the  fire.  We  could  see  each  other  now, — 
our  little  colony  of  pilgrims.  We  looked  at  each 
other  and  were  revived. 

We  had  a  little  coffee-pot,  black  and  battered  it 
is  true,  but  the  water  boiled  just  the  same,  and  as 
soon  as  if  it  had  been  silver. 

This  revived  the  Doctor.     Hunger  had  much  to 


AS  THE  LA  W  DIRECTS.  219 

do  with  his  faintness.  He  now  sat  up  and  talked,  in 
his  low  quiet  way,  looking  into  the  fire  and  brushing 
the  little  mites  of  dust  and  pine-quills  from  his  shirt, 
as  if  still  to  retain  his  great  respectability  of  dress ; 
and  by  the  time  we  all  had  finished  our  coffee,  he  was 
almost  as  cheerful  as  we  had  ever  seen  him  before. 

The  moon  came  out  clear  and  cold,  and  we  spread 
our  damp  and  dusty  blankets  on  the  quills  between 
the  pines,  with  the  snowy  front  of  the  Shasta  lifting, 
lifting  like  a  bank  of  clouds  away  to  the  left,  and  the 
heads  of  many  mining  streams  dipping  away  in  so 
many  wild  and  dubious  directions  that  no  one  but 
our  little  leader,  perhaps,  could  have  found  the  way  to 
the  settlements  without  the  gravest  embarrassment. 

Klamat  had  gone  down  the  hill  for  water,  this 
time  leaving  his  rifle  leaned  against  a  pine,  though 
not  without  casting  a  glance  back  over  his  shoulder 
as  if  to  say,  "Look  sharp!  but  I  will  be  back  at 
once."  We  all  were  still  warming  ourselves  by  the 
fire,  I  think,  though  there  are  some  sudden  things 
you  cannot  just  recall. 

A  wave  of  fate  strikes  you  so  strong  sometimes, 
that  you  are  swallowed  up.  Head  and  ears  you  go 
under  it  and  you  see  nothing,  you  remember  nothing. 
It  seems  to  take  your  breath. 

Click !  click !  click !  a  tired  mule  started,  snuffed, 
and  then  dropped  his  head,  for  it  was  over  in  an 
instant, 


220  TURN  TO  TEE  RIGHT 

"  Hands  up,  gentlemen  !  hands  np !  Don't  trouble 
yourselves  to  move  !  There,  that  will  do  !  You  are 
the  one  we  want.     Pass  in  your  checks !" 

The  Doctor  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  let  them 
take  his  arms  without  a  word. 

The  fire  had  done  the  mischief.  Klamat  did  not 
come  back ;  at  least,  he  did  not  let  it  be  known  if  he 
did.  Paquita  opened  her  large  eyes  very  wide, 
pushed  back  her  hair,  and  rested  her  hands  in  her 
lap  as  she  sat  looking  at  the  three  strange  men  in 
elegant  top  boots  and  broad-brimmed  hats. 

"  A  pretty  man  you  are,  Mr.  Prince,  to  run  with 
this  fellow,"  said  the  officer,  "  to  give  me  this  race. 
For  a  coon  skin  I  would  take  you  in  charge  too." 

Here  he  arose,  went  over,  and  looked  at  the  animals 
in  the  firelight,  as  if  looking  for  some  cause  to  lay 
hands  on  the  Prince,  took  general  charge  of  the  camp 
as  if  it  were  his  own,  lit  his  pipe,  had  one  of  the  men 
make  coffee,  and  seemed  quite  at  home. 

If  the  Prince  uttered  a  word  all  this  time  I  do  not 
remember  it. 

"Where's  your  other  Ingin,  Prince?"  said  the 
officer,  looking  about  and  seeing  but  the  four  saddles. 
"  Put  him  in  the  bush,  or  left  him  in  the  camp  ? 
Rather  a  good-looking  piece  you  got  here  now,  ain't 
she  ?"     He  pointed  his  pipe-stem  at  Paquita. 

For  the  first  time  the  Prince  showed  colour. 

The  officer  and  his  men,  toward  midnight,  spread 


AS  THE  LA  W  DIRECTS.  221 

their  blankets  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire.  They 
were  scarce  of  blankets,  and  the  night  was  cold. 

This  may  be  the  reason  they  all  spread  down 
together.  But  there  is  nothing  that  will  excuse 
such  a  stupid  thing  in  the  mountains.  Sleep  apart. 
Wide  apart,  rods  apart :  never  two  together,  unless 
you  wish  to  make  a  broad  target  of  yourselves 
where  the  muzzle  of  one  gun  can  do  the  work  of 
many. 

Before  lying  down  the  men  did  what  they  could 
for  their  tired  beasts ;  and  then  the  officer  came  up 
to  the  Doctor,  who  still  gazed  and  gazed  into  the 
fire,  and,  drawing  something  from  his  pockets  that 
clinked  like  chains,  said — 

"Your  hands!" 

"  He  is  ill,"  said  the  Prince,  "  very  ill.  I  will  answer 
for  him.  Iron  me  if  you  like ;  but  that  man  is  a  ner- 
vous, sensitive  man  that  cannot  bear  to  be  chained." 

The  officer  laughed  a  little  and,  without  answering, 
took  the  Doctor's  unresisting  hands  and  linked  them 
together  with  a  snap  that  made  one  shudder;  then 
laid  him  back  in  his  blankets.  He  looked  to  his 
pistol,  and  saying — 

"  Don't  move !  Don't  you  attempt  to  move !" 
walked  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  pine-knot  fire, 
and,  pistol  in  hand,  lay  down  by  his  companions, 
looking  all  the  time  across  the  fire  at  his  prisoner. 

The  Prince  arose,  went  and  gathered  up  pine-knots 


222  TURN  TO  THE  RIGHT 

by  the  light  of  the  moon,  and  laid  them  on  the  fire. 
Paquita  looked  inquiringly  at  him,  and  then  went 
and  did  the  same.  When  the  fire  loomed  up,  he 
lifted  the  blankets  from  the  Doctor's  feet,  drew  off 
his  boots,  and  let  the  warm,  cheerful  fire  fall  on  the 
wretched  man. 

The  officer  lay  like  a  fox  watching  every  move  and 
motion,  with  his  head  on  his  saddle,  and  his  nose 
just  above  the  blankets.  His  pistol  hand  was  at  his 
side  clutching  the  revolver.  The  other  men  were 
equally  wide  awake  and  watchful  at  his  side. 

"Lie  down,  Paquita,"  said  the  Prince,  "lie  down 
and  rest  with  your  moccasins  to  the  fire ;  you  have 
had  a  hard  and  bitter  day  of  it.  I  will  keep  the 
fire." 

The  child  obeyed.  He  waved  his  hand  at  me  to 
do  the  same,  and  I  was  soon  sound  asleep. 

The  last  I  saw  of  the  Prince  before  falling  asleep — 
he  was  resting  on  his  side  with  his  hand  on  his  head, 
and  elbow  on  his  blankets.  In  the  mountains,  when 
you  spread  your  blankets,  you  put  your  arms — rifle 
or  pistols — in  between  the  blankets  as  carefully  as 
if  they  were  children.  This  is  done,  in  the  first 
place,  to  keep  them  dry,  and,  in  the  second  place,  to 
have  them  ready  for  use.  They  are  laid  close  to 
your  side.  The  heat  of  your  body  keeps  out  the 
damp. 

I  awoke  soon.     I  was  too  bruised,  and  sore,  and 


AS  THE  LA  W  DIRECTS.  223 

sick  in  mind  and  body,  to  sleep.  There  is  a  doleful, 
dreary  bird  that  calls  in  this  country  in  the  night,  in 
the  most  mournful  tone  you  can  imagine.  It  is  a 
sort  of  white-headed  owl ;  not  large,  but  with  a  very 
hoarse  and  coarse  note.  One  of  these  birds  was 
calling  at  intervals  down  the  gorge  to  the  right,  and 
another  answered  on  the  other  side  so  faintly  I  could 
just  hear  it.  An  answer  would  come  just  as  regularly 
as  this  one  called,  and  that  would  sound  even  more 
doleful  and  dreary  still,  because  so  far  and  indistinct. 
The  moon  hung  cold  and  crooked  overhead,  and  fell 
in  flakes  through  the  trees  like  snow. 

The  Doctor  put  out  his  two  hands,  pushed  back 
the  blanket,  and  raised  his  head.  He  looked  to  the 
left  in  the  gorge  as  if  he  contemplated  a  spring  in 
that  direction.  I  think  that,  at  last,  he  had  summoned 
up  courage  to  make  a  desperate  effort  to  escape. 

He  drew  up  his  legs  slowly,  as  if  gathering  his 
muscles  for  a  leap.  My  heart  stood  still.  All  seemed 
clear.  I  could  see  the  nerves  of  his  face  quiver  in 
the  moon. 

He  turned  his  head  to  the  officer,  not  six  feet  away 
across  the  fire,  and  looked  squarely  into  the  ugly, 
sullen  muzzles  of  three  lifted  pistols. 

The  Doctor  sank  back  with  a  groan.  His  face  was 
now  white  as  the  moon  that  shone  down  upon  it 
through  the  quills  above  his  head. 

The  officer  and  his  men  exchanged  glances,  and 


224:  TURN  TO  THE  RIGHT 

lay  down  without  a  word.  The  Prince  was  possibly- 
asleep.  Still,  ever  and  again,  the  doleful  bird  kept 
calling,  and  the  woful  answer  came  back  like  an 
echo  of  sorrow  across  the  great  black  canon  below. 

The  moon  kept  settling  and  settling  to  the  west 
among  the  yellow  stars,  as  broad  and  spangled  as 
California  lilies,  and  the  morning  was  not  far  away. 

Again  the  Doctor  drew  in  his  naked  feet.  I  could 
see  the  muscles  gather  and  contract,  and  I  knew  he 
was  again  preparing  for  a  spring.  All  was  still.  He 
'raised  his  head,  and  three  pistol  muzzles  raised  and 
met  the  man  half  way.  He  crept  back  far  down  in 
the  blankets,  hid  his  head  in  the  folds,  and  shuddered 
and  shivered  as  with  an  ague. 

Dawn  was  descending  and  settling  around  the  head 
of  Shasta  in  a  splendour  and  a  glory  that  words 
will  never  touch. 

There  are  some  things  that  are  so  far  beyond  the 
reach  of  words  that  it  seems  like  desecration  to 
attempt  description.  It  was  not  the  red  of  Pekin, 
not  the  purple  of  Tyre  or  the  yellow  of  the  Barbary 
coast ;  but  merge  all  these,  mixed  and  made  mellow 
in  a  far  and  tender  light — snow  and  sun,  and  sun 
and  snow — and  stars,  and  blue  and  purple  skies  all 
blended,  all  these  in  a  splendid,  confused,  and  inde- 
scribable glory,  suffusing  the  hoary  summit,  centering 
there,  gathering  there,  resting  a  moment — then  radia- 
ting, going  on  to  the  sea,  to  broad  and  burning  plains 


AS  THE  LA  W  DIRECTS.  225 

of  the  south,  to  the  boundless  forests  of  fir  in  the  north, 
even  to  the  mining  camps  of  Cariboo,  and  you  have 
a  sunrise  on  the  summit  of  Shasta. 

The  Prince  lifted  his  head,  rested  on  his  elbow, 
rubbed  his  eyes  as  if  he  had  surely  slept,  and  then 
slowly  and  stiffly  arose.  The  fire  was  low,  almost 
out.  He  turned  to  gather  pine-knots,  laid  them  on 
the  fire,  and  turned  away  as  if  to  gather  more.  The 
Doctor  seemed  to  sleep.  The  officer  and  his  men 
were  resting  too.     Perhaps  they  slept  also. 

"  Click !  click !  " 

I  sprang  to  my  feet. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourselves  to  move,  gentlemen ! 
Remain  just  where  you  are,  gentlemen,  just  where 
you  are ! " 

It  was  the  Prince  who  spoke  this  time.  He  had 
approached  the  three  heads  from  behind,  and  had 
the  double-barrelled  gun  with  its  double  handful  of 
buck-shot  levelled,  as  he  spoke,  against  the  tops  of 
their  heads  as  they  lay  there  on  their  backs. 

Approach  a  man  lying  down  as  if  you  meant  to 
tread  upon  his  scalp  and  pin  him  to  the  earth,  and  he 
is  the  most  helpless  of  mortals.  He  cannot  see  you, 
he  cannot  turn  around,  he  can  do  nothing.  Here  lay 
those  men;  they  could  see  nothing  but  the  black 
ugly  muzzles  of  the  double  barrels.  Their  pistols 
were  in  their  hands ;  they  were  plucky  fellows,  but 
they  could  not  draw ;  they  were  as  likely  to  shoot 
each  other  as  an  enemy  or  any  one. 


226  TURN  TO  TEE  RIGHT 

This  coming  upon  a  man  when  lie  is  lying  down  on 
his  back  may  not  be  the  manliest  way  in  the  world, 
but  it  is  the  safest,  certainly ;  and  when  the  game  is 
three  to  one,  you  have  to  take  all  the  per-cent.  you 
can,  or,  in  mountain  phrase,  "just  pass  in  your 
checks." 

"Don't  trouble  yourselves  to  move,  gentlemen; 
don't  trouble  to  rise  !  " 

The  Prince  said  this  with  a  mockery  and  irony  in 
his  tone  that  was  bitter  beyond  expression;  as  if 
all  the  poison  and  the  venom  of  the  cruel  words  and 
cruel  treatment  of  the  Doctor  the  night  before  had 
been  rankling  in  his  heart  till  it  was  ready  to  burst 
out  of  itself,  and  he  now  hissed  it  out  between  his 
teeth. 

There  was  something  in  his  words  that  told  the 
three  men  that  he  would  rather  like  it  if  they  would 
only  "trouble  to  move,"  move  the  least  bit  in  the 
world.  As  if  he  would  be  particularly  glad  if  even 
one  of  them  would  lift  a  finger,  and  give  him  even 
the  least  shadow  of  an  excuse  to  blow  them  to  the 
moon.     They  therefore  "  did  not  trouble  to  move." 

Klamat  came  out  here  from  the  dark  with  the 
dawn.  He  approached  the  men  like  a  shadow  thrown 
by  a  pine  from  the  far  light,  pulled  down  the  blan- 
kets, and  took  the  three  pistols  from  their  unresisting 
hands. 

"  You  may  sit  up  now,"  said  the  Prince,  taking  a 


THE  TABLES  TURNED. 


4 


AS  THE  LA  W  DIRECTS.  227 

seat  across  the  fire  by  the  side  of  the  Doctor.  "  You 
may  sit  up  now.  You  are  my  prisoners,  but  I  will 
not  handcuff  you.  I  will  give  you  back  your  arms 
if  you  obey  me,  and  you  shall  return  to  your  town." 

"  I  will  not  ask  you  not  to  mention  this  little  affair," 
said  the  Prince — raising  the  double  barrels,  as  one  of 
the  men  seemed  to  be  gathering  his  legs  under  him — 
I  wrill  not  ask  you  not  to  mention  this  little  affair. 
That  is  safe  enough.  You  gents  will  be  the  last  men 
on  earth  to  mention  it.  But  I  give  you  my  word 
that  it  shall  never  be  mentioned  by  us,  never,  so  long 
as  you  do  not  attempt  to  molest  this  man.  Make 
the  least  attempt  against  him,  or  any  one  here,  and 
you  shall  be  made  the  laughing-stock  of  your  town." 

The  men  looked  at  each  other  with  hope.  They 
had  expected  to  die  on  the  spot. 

"It's  your  pot,  Prince,  take  it  down.  You  hold 
the  papers,  called  us  on  a  dead  hand,  you  did,  but  this 
was  no  bluff  of  mine.  The  only  mislead  made  was 
not  to  chain  you  down  too,  like  a  dog,  as  you  deserve 
to  be." 

The  Prince  coloured.  "If  you  had  not  chained 
this  man,"  he  said  at  last,  quietly,  "perhaps  you 
could  have  taken  him  with  you.  The  only  mistake 
you  made  was  to  chain  any  man  at  all.  Chain  a  man 
that  could  not  stand  on  his  feet!  You  deserve  to 
be  shot ;  and  if  you  repeat  yourself,  I  will  let  Klamat 
scalp  you  where  you  sit." 


223  TURN  TO  TEE  BIGHT. 

The  Indian  arose  with  his  hand  on  his  knife. 
There  was  a  iieree  satisfaction  in  his  face.  He  had 
suffered  too  much  through  the  night,  through  the 
winter,  through  the  year,  to  feel  like  trifling  now. 
The  Indian  boy  had  no  other  idea  than  the  death  of 
the  men.  He  certainly  looked  "blank  amazement 
when,  an  hour  later,  the  Prince,  after  discharging 
their  arms,  and  emptying  their  catenas  of  ammuni- 
tion, returned  them  all  again,  and  turned  their  faces 
to  the  city,  civilly,  almost  politely. 

The  men  rode  sadly  and  silently  away  through  the 
trees,  now  and  then  looking  back  over  their  shoul- 
ders.    The  man-hunt  was  over. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


HOME. 


PECULIARLY  nervous  man  suffers  from 
a  mental  ailment  as  distinctly  as  from  a 
wound  He  grows  weak  under  the  sense 
of  mental  distress  the  same  as  an  ordinary  man  does 
from  the  loss  of  blood.  Remove  the  cause  of  appre- 
hension, and  he  recovers  the  same  as  the  wounded 
man  recovers.  Free  the  mind,  and  you  stop  the  flow 
of  blood.     He  grows  strong  again. 

We  moved  on  a  little  way  that  day,  slowly,  to  be 
sure,  but  fast  enough  and  far  enough  to  be  able  to 
pitch  our  camp  in  a  place  of  our  own  choosing,  with 
wood,  water,  and  grass,  the  indispensable  requisites 
of  a  mountain  camp,  all  close  at  hand. 

To  the  astonishment  of  all,  the  Doctor  unsaddled 

his  mule,  gathered  up  wood,  and  was  a  full  half- hand 

at  supper.     At   night  he  spread  his  own   blankets, 

looked  to  his  pistols  like  an  old  mountaineer,   and 

seemed  to  be  at  last  getting  in   earnest   with   life. 

The  next  day,  as  we  rode  through  the  trees,  he 

229 


230  HOME. 

whistled  at  the  partridges  as  they  ran  in  strings 
across  the  trails,  and  chirped  at  the  squirrels  over- 
head. 

How  delightful  it  was  to  ride  through  the  grass 
and  trees,  hear  the  partridges  whistle,  pack  and 
unpack  the  horses,  pitch  the  tent  by  the  water,  and 
make  a  military  camp,  and  talk  of  war;  imagine 
battles,  shoot  from  behind  the  pines,  and  always,  of 
course,  making  yourself  a  hero.  Splendid !  I  was 
busy  as  a  bee.  I  cooked,  packed,  stood  guard,  killed 
game,  did  everything.  And  so  we  journeyed  on 
through  the  splendid  forests,  under  the  face  of  Shasta, 
and  over  peaceful  little  streams  that  wound  silently 
through  the  grass,  as  if  afraid,  till  we  came  to  the 
head- waters  of  the  Sacramento. 

Sometimes  we  saw  other  camps.  White  tents 
pitched  down  by  the  shining  river,  among  the  scat- 
tered pines ;  brown  mules  and  spotted  ponies  feeding, 
and  half  buried  in  the  long  grass ;  and  the  sound  of 
the  picks  in  the  bar  below  us  all  made  a  picture  in 
my  life  to  love. 

Once  we  fell  in  with  an  Indian  party ;  pretty  girls 
and  lively  unsuspicious  boys  along  with  their  parents, 
fishing  for  salmon,  and  not  altogether  at  war  with 
the  whites.     They  treated  us  with  great  kindness. 

At  last  we  branched  off  entirely  to  ourselves,  cut- 
ting deep  into  the  mountain  as  the  winter  approached, 
looking  for  a  home.     The   weak   condition   of  the 


HOME.  231 

Doctor  made  it  necessary  that  we  brought  our 
journey  to  a  close.  We  had  taken  a  different  route 
from  others,  for  good  and  sufficient  reasons.  The 
trails  and  tracks  of  the  hundreds  of  gold-hunters,  who 
had  mostly  preceded  us  some  months,  lay  considerably 
west  of  Mount  Shasta,  striking  the  head  of  the  Sacra- 
mento river  at  its  very  source.  They  had  found  only 
a  few  bars  with  float  gold,  not  in  sufficient  quantities 
to  warrant  the  location  of  a  camp,  and  pushed 
on  to  the  mines  farther  south.  Some,  however, 
returned. 

"We  sometimes  met  a  party  of  ten  or  more,  all 
well  armed  and  mounted,  ready  to  fight  or  fly  as  the 
case  might  require.  The  usual  mountain  civilities 
would  be  exchanged,  brief  and  brusque  enough,  and 
each  party  would  pass  on  its  way,  with  a  frequent 
glance  thrown  back  suspiciously  at  our  Indian 
boy  with  his  rifle,  the  invalid  Doctor  leaning  on  his 
catenas,  the  Indian  girl  with  her  splendid  hair  and 
face  as  bright  as  the  morning,  and  the  majestic  figure 
of  the  Prince.  An  odd-looking  party  was  ours,  I 
confess. 

Paquita  knew  every  dimple,  bend  or  spur  in  these 
mountains  now.  The  Prince  entrusted  her  to  select 
some  suitable  place  to  rest.  One  evening  she  drew 
rein  and  reached  out  her  hand.  Klamat  stood  his 
rifle  against  a  pine,  and  began  to  unpack  the  tired 
little  mule,  and  all  dismounted  without  a  word. 


232  HOME. 

It  was  early  sundown.  A  balm  and  a  calm  was 
on  and  in  all  things.  The  very  atmosphere  was  still 
as  a  shadow  and  seemed  to  say,  "  Rest,  rest  !"  We 
were  on  the  edge  of  an  opening ;  a  little  prairie  of 
a  thousand  acres,  inclining  south,  with  tall,  very  tall 
grass,  and  a  little  stream  straying  from  where  we 
stood  to  wander  through  the  meadow.  A  wall  of 
pines  stood  thick  and  strong  around  our  little  Eden, 
and  when  we  had  unsaddled  our  tired  animals  and 
taken  the  aparrajo  from  the  little  packer,  we 
turned  them  loose  in  the  little  Paradise,  without  even 
so  much  as  a  lariat  or  hackamoor  to  restrain  them. 

The  sun  had  just  retired  from  the  body  of  the 
mountain,  but  it  was  evident  that  all  day  long  he 
rested  here  and  made  glad  the  earth  ;  for  crickets 
sang  in  the  grass  as  they  sing  under  the  hearthstones 
in  the  cabins  of  the  west,  and  little  birds  started  up 
from  the  edge  of  the  valley  that  were  not  to  be  found 
in  the  forest. 

An  elk  came  out  from  the  fringe  of  the  wood, 
threw  his  antlers  back  on  his  shoulders  with  his 
brown  nose  lifted,  and  blew  a  blast  as  he  turned  to 
fly  that  made  the  horses  jerk  their  heads  from  the 
grass,  and  start  and  wheel  around  with  fright.  Brown 
deer  came  out,  too,  as  if  to  take  a  walk  in  the  mea- 
dow beneath  the  moon,  but  snuffed  a  breath  from 
the  intruders  and  turned  away.  Bears  came  out  two 
by  two  in  single  file,  but  did  not  seem  to  notice  us. 


HOME,  233 

Some  men  say  that  the  bear  is  deprived  of  the  sense 
of  smell  in  the  wild  state.  A  mistake.  He  relies  as 
much  on  his  nose  as  the  deer;  perhaps  more,  for  his 
little  black  eyes  are  so  small  that  they  surely  are 
not  equal  to  the  great  liquid  eyes  of  the  buck,  which 
are  so  set  in  his  head  that  he  may  see  far  and  wide 
at  once.  But  the  bear  carries  his  nose  close  to  the 
ground,  while  that  of  the  deer  is  lifted,  and  of  course 
can  hardly  smell  an  intruder  in  his  dominions  until 
he  comes  upon  his  track.  Then  it  is  curious  to  ob- 
serve him.  He  throws  himself  on  his  hind  legs, 
stands  up  tall  as  a  man,  thrusts  out  his  nose,  lifts  it, 
snuffs  the  air,  turns  all  around  in  his  tracks,  and 
looks  and  smells  in  every  direction  for  his  enemy. 
If  he  is  a  cub,  however,  or  even  a  cowardly  grown 
bear,  he  wheels  about  the  moment  he  comes  upon 
the  track,  will  not  cross  it  under  any  circumstances, 
and  plunges  again  into  the  thicket. 

We  had  a  blazing  fire  soon,  and  at  last,  when 
we  had  sat  down  to  the  mountain  meal,  spread  on 
a  canvas  mantaro  on  the  ground,  each  man  on  his 
saddle  or  a  roll  of  blankets,  with  his  knife  in  hand, 
Klamat  looked  at  our  limited  supply  of  provisions, 
and  then  pointed  to  the  game  in  the  meadow. 

He  pictured  sun-rise,  the  hunt,  the  deer,  the 
crack  of  his  rifle,  and  how  he  would  come  into  camp 
laden  with  supplies.  All  this,  he  gave  us  to  under- 
stand, would  take  place  to-morrow,  as  he  placed   a 


234  HOME. 

sandwich  between  his  teeth,  and  threw  his  eyes 
across  his  shoulder  at  the  dark  figures  stealing 
through  the  grass  across  the  other  side  of  our  little 
Eden. 

The  morning  witnessed  the  fulfilment.  Paquita 
was  more  than  busy  all  day  in  dressing  venison,  and 
drying  the  meat  for  winter.  The  place  was  as  full 
of  game  as  a  park.  No  lonelier  or  more  isolated  place 
than  this  on  earth.  We  walked  about  and  viewed 
our  new  estates.  The  mules  and  ponies  rolled  in 
the  rich  grass,  or  rested  in  the  sun  with  drooping 
heads  and  half-closed  eyes. 

Even  the  invalid  Doctor  seemed  to  revive  in  a 
most  sudden  and  marvellous  way.  He  saw  that  no 
white  man's  foot  had  ever  trod  the  grasses  of  this 
valley ;  that  there  we  might  rest  and  rest  and  never 
rise  up  from  fear.  He  could  trust  the  wall  of  pine 
that  environed  us.  It  was  impassable.  He  stood 
before  an  alder-tree  that  leaned  across  the  babbling, 
crooked  little  stream,  and  with  his  sheath-knife  cut 
this  one  word  : — Home. 

A  little  way  from  here  Paquita  showed  us  another 
opening  in  the  forest.  This  was  a  wider  valley, 
with  warm  sulphur  and  soda  springs  in  a  great 
crescent  all  around  the  upper  rim.  Here  the  elk 
would  come  to  winter,  she  said ;  and  hence  we  could 
never  want  for  meat.  The  earth  and  atmosphere 
were  kept  warm  here  from  the  eternal  springs ;  and 


l&«A^ad 


THE   LOST  CABIN. 


HOME.  235 

grass,  she  said,  was  fresh  and  grew  the  winter 
through. 

This  is  the  true  source  of  the  stream  which  the 
white  men  call  Soda;  the  proper  Indian  name  of 
which  is  Numken ;  and  here  we  built  our  cabin, 
reared  a  fortress  against  the  approaching  winter 
without  delay,  for  every  night  his  sentries  were 
coming  down  bolder  and  bolder  about  the  camp. 

This  was  the  famous  "  Lost  Cabin."  It  stood  on 
a  hillside,  a  little  above  the  prairie,  facing  the  sun, 
close  to  the  warm  springs,  and  on  the  very  head  of 
the  Numken,  and  was  not  unlike  an  ordinary  miner's 
cabin,  except  that  the  fireplace  was  in  the  centre 
of  the  room  instead  of  being  awkwardly  placed  at 
one  end,  where  but  few  can  get  the  benefit  of  the 
fire.     This  departure  was  not  without  reason. 

In  the  first  place,  the  two  Indians,  constituting 
nearly  half  of  the  voting  population  of  our  little  colony, 
insisted  on  it  with  a  zeal  that  was  certainly  com- 
mendable ;  and  as  they  insisted  on  nothing  else,  it 
was  only  justice  to  listen  to  them  in  this. 

"  By-and-by  my  people  will  come,"  said  Paquita, 
"  and  then  you  will  want  an  Indian  fire,  a  fire  that 
they  can  sit  down  by  and  around  without  sending 
somebody  back  in  the  cold." 

Again,  you  cannot  build  a  cabin  so  strong  with 
one  end  devoted  to  a  chimney,  as  if  it  is  one  solid 
square  body  of  logs.     Then,  it  is  no  small  task  to 


236  HOME. 

build  a  chimney  out  of  stone  with  only  your  hands 
for  a  trowel  and  black  mud  for  mortar. 

All  these  things  considered,  we  placed  the  fire  in 
the  centre  of  the  cabin  on  the  earth-floor,  and  let 
the  smoke  curl  up  and  out  through  an  opening  in 
the  roof,  as  it  always  does  and  always  will,  in  a 
graceful  sort  of  way,  if  you  build  a  fire  as  an  Indian 
builds  it. 

The  Doctor  was  getting  strong  again.  As  this 
man  grew  strong  in  a  measure,  it  is  a  little  re- 
markable that  my  sympathies  were  withdrawn  propor- 
tionably. 

I  state  this  as  a  very  remarkable  fact.  As  the 
pitiful  condition  of  the  Doctor  daily  grew  less,  his 
crimes  began  to  loom  up  and  grow  larger.  They  had 
sunk  down  almost  out  of  sight;  but  now  as  this  man 
began  to  lift  up  his  hands  to  take  part  in  the  life 
around  him,  I  shrank  back  and  said  to  myself,  There 
is  blood  on  them — human  blood. 

No  Indian  had  as  yet,  so  far  as  we  knew,  dis- 
covered us.  Paquita  had  from  the  first,  around 
the  fire,  told  her  plans;  how  that  as  soon  as  she 
should  be  well  rested  from  the  journey,  and  a  house 
was  built  and  meat  secured  for  the  winter,  she  would 
take  her  pony,  strike  a  trail  that  lay  still  deeper  in 
the  woods,  and  follow  it  up  till  she  came  to  her 
father's  winter  lodges. 

How  enthusiastically  she  pictured  the  reception. 


HOME.  237 

How  clearly  she  pourtrayed  it  all.  She  would  ride 
into  the  village  at  sun-down,  alone ;  the  dogs  would 
bark  a  great  deal  at  her  red  dress  and  her  nice  new 
apparel.  Then  she  would  dismount  and  go  straight 
up  to  her  father's  lodge  and  sit  down  by  the  door. 
The  Indians  would  pass  by  and  pretend  not  to  see 
her,  but  all  the  time  be  looking  slily  sideways,  half- 
dead  to  know  who  she  was.  Then,  after  a  while, 
some  one  of  the  women  would  come  out  and  bring 
her  some  water.  Maybe  that  would  be  her  sister. 
If  it  was  her  sister,  she  would  lift  up  her  left  arm 
and  show  her  the  three  little  marks  on  the  wrist, 
and  then  they  would  know  her  and  lead  her  into  the 
lodge  in  delight. 

One  tine  morning  she  set  forth  on  her  contem- 
plated journey.  I  did  not  now  like  the  place  so 
well.  For  the  first  time,  I  found  fault  with  the 
things  around  me.  The  forest  was  black,  gloomy, 
ghostly — a  thing  to  be  dreaded.  Before,  it  was 
dreamy,  deep — a  marvel,  a  something  to  love  and 
delight  in.  The  cabin,  that  had  been  a  very  palace, 
was  now  so  small  and  narrow,  it  seemed  I  would 
suffocate  in  the  smoke.  The  fires  did  not  burn  so 
well  as  they  did  before.  Nobody  could  build  a  fire 
like  Paquita. 

Back  from  our  cabin  a  little  way  were  some  grand 
old  bluffs,  topped  with  pine  and  cedar,  from  which 
the  view  of  valley,  forest,  and  mountain,  was  all  that 


238  HOME. 

could  be  desired.  A  little  way  down  the  Numken, 
from  the  warm  springs,  the  waters  of  the  valley  came 
together  and  went  plunging  all  afoam  down  the 
canon,  almost  impassable  even  for  footmen.  Here 
we  found  fine  veins  of  quartz,  and  first-rate  indi- 
cations of  gold  both  in  the  rock  and  in  the  placer. 
The  Prince  and  the  Doctor  revived  their  theories  on 
the  origin  of  gold,  and  had  many  plans  for  putting 
their  speculations  to  the  test. 

Klamat  was  never  idle,  yet  he  was  never  social. 
There  was  a  bitterness,  a  sort  of  savage  deviltry,  in 
all  he  did.  A  fierce  positive  nature  was  his,  and 
hardly  bridled  at  that. 

Whether  that  disposition  dated  further  back  than 
a  certain  winter,  when  the  dead  were  heaped  up  and 
the  wigwams  burned  on  the  banks  of  the  Klamat,  or 
whether  it  was  born  there  of  the  blood  and  bodies  in 
the  snow,  and  came  to  life  only  when  a  little,  naked, 
skeleton  savage  sprung  up  in  the  midst  of  men  with 
a  club,  I  do  not  pretend  to  say,  but  I  should  guess 
the  latter.  I  can  picture  him  a  little  boy  with  bow 
and  arrows,  not  over  gentle  it  is  true,  but  still  a 
patient  little  savage,  like  the  rest,  talking  and  taking 
part  in  the  sports,  like  those  around  him.  Now  he 
was  prematurely  old.  He  never  laughed;  never  so 
much  as  smiled;  took  no  delight  in  anything  and 
yet  refused  to  complain.  He  took  hold  of  things, 
did  his  part,  but  kept  his  secrets  and  his  sorrows  to 
himself,  whatever  they  may  have  been. 


ROME,  239 

Klaniat  never  alluded  to  the  massacre  in  any  way 
whatever.  Once,  when  it  was  mentioned,  he  turned 
his  head  and  pretended  not  to  hear.  Yet,  somehow 
it  seemed  to  me  that  that  scene  was  before  him  every 
moment.  He  saw  it  in  the  fire  at  night,  in  the  forest 
by  day.  There  are  natures  that  cannot  forget  if  they 
would.  A  scene  like  that  settles  down  in  the  mind ; 
it  takes  up  its  abode  there  and  refuses  to  go  away. 
His  was  such  a  nature. 

In  fact,  Indians  in  the  aggregate  forget  less  than 
any  other  people.  They  remember  the  least  kindness 
perfectly  well  all  through  life,  and  a  deep  wrong  is 
as  difficult  to  forget.  The  reason  is,  I  should  say, 
because  the  Indian  does  not  meet  with  a  great  deal 
of  kindness  as  he  goes  through  life.  His  mind  and 
memory  are  hardly  overtaxed,  I  think,  in  remember- 
ing good  deeds  from  the  white  man. 

Besides,  their  lives  are  very  monotonous.  But 
few  events  occur  of  importance  outside  their  wars. 
They  have  no  commercial  speculations  to  call  off  the 
mind  in  that  direction ;  no  books  to  forget  themselves 
in,  and  cannot  go  beyond  the  sea,  and  hide  in  old 
cities,  to  escape  any  great  sorrow  that  pursues  them. 
So  they  have  learned  to  remember  the  good  and  the 
bad  better  than  do  their  enemies. 

This  cabin  of  ours  in  the  trees  on  the  rim  of  the 
clearing  grew  soon  to  be  a  sacred  place  to  all.  Here 
was  rest  absolute,   unqualified  repose.     Eight-hour 


240  HOME. 

laws,  late  or  early  rising,  in  order  to  conform  to  the 
fashion  of  the  country,  did  not  concern  us  here. 
There  were  no  days  in  which  we  were  required  to 
remain  in  to  receive  company,  no  days  in  which  we 
were  expected  to  make  calls.  We  named  the  cabin 
the  "  Castle,"  and  the  Doctor  cut  out  wooden  cannon, 
mounted  them  on  pine  stumps  before  the  door  as  on 
little  towers,  and  turned  them  on  the  world  below* 


CHAPTER  XVII 


THE   LOST    CABIIS". 


HE    snow    began    to     fall,    and     Paquita 
did  not  return. 

Elk  came  down  from  the  mountain  towards 
spring,  and  we  could  shoot  them  from  the  cabin 
door.  At  this  season  of  the  year,  as  well  as  late 
in  the  fall,  they  are  found  in  herds  of  hundreds 
together. 

It  seems  odd  to  say  that  they  should  go  up  further 
into  the  mountains  as  winter  approaches,  instead  of 
down  into  the  foot-hills  and  plains  below,  as  do  the 
deer,  but  it  is  true.  There  are  warm  springs — in 
fact,  all  mountain  springs  are  warmer  in  the  winter 
than  in  the  summer — up  the  mountain,  where  vine- 
maple,  a  kind  of  water-cress,  and  wild  swamp  berries 
grow  in  the  warm  marshes  or  on  the  edges,  and 
p  241 


242  TEE  LOST  CABIN. 

here  the  elk  subsist.  When  the  maple  and  grasses 
of  one  marsh  are  consumed,  they  break  through  the 
snow  in  single  file,  led  in  turns  by  the  bulls,  to 
another. 

Hundreds  in  this  way  make  but  one  great  track, 
much  as  if  a  great  log  had  been  drawn  to  and 
fro  through  the  snow.  The  cows  come  up  last,  to 
protect  the  calves  in  the  line  of  march  from  the 
wolves. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  elk  use  their  splen- 
did horns  in  battle.  These  are  only  used  to  receive 
the  enemy  upon.  A  sort  of  cluster  of  bayonets  in 
rest.  All  offensive  action  is  with  the  feet.  An  elk's 
horns  are  so  placed  on  his  head,  that  when  his  nose 
is  lifted  so  as  to  enable  him  to  move  about  or  see 
his  enemy,  they  are  thrown  far  back  on  his  shoulders, 
where  they  are  quite  useless.  He  strikes  out  with 
his  feet,  and  then  throws  his  head  on  the  ground  to 
receive  his  enemy.  You  have  much  to  fear  from 
the  feet  of  an  elk  at  battle,  but  nothing  from  his 
matchless  antlers. 

The  black  bears  here  also  go  up  the  mountain 
when  the  winter  approaches.  They  find  some  hollow 
trunk,  usually  the  trunk  of  a  sturdy  tree,  and  creep 
into  it  close  down  to  the  ground.  Here  they  lie  till 
snowed  in  and  covered  over,  very  fat,  for  months 
and  months,  in  a  long  and  delightful  sleep,  and 
never  come  out  till  the  snow  melts  away,  or  they 


THE  LOST  CABIN.  243 

have  the  ill-fortune  to  be  smelled  out  by  the  Indian 
dogs,  and  then  called  out  by  the  hunters. 

Whenever  they  find  a  black  bear  thus,  they  pound 
on  the  tree  and  call  to  him  to  come  out.  They  chal- 
lenge him  in  all  kinds  of  bantering  language,  call 
him  a  coward  and  a  lazy  fat  old  fellow,  that  would 
run  away  from  the  squaws,  and  would  sleep  all 
summer.  They  tell  him  it  is  spring-time  now,  and 
he  had  better  get  up  and  come  out  and  see  the  sun. 
The  most  remarkable  thing,  however,  is,  that  so  soon 
as  the  bear  hears  the  pounding  on  the  tree,  he  begins 
to  dig  and  endeavour  to  get  out ;  so  that  the  Indians 
have  but  little  to  do,  after  he  is  discovered,  but  to  sit 
down  and  wait  till  he  crawls  out — blinking  and 
blinded  by  the  light  in  his  small  black  eyes — and 
despatch  him  on  the  spot.  Bears  when  taken  in  this 
way  are  always  plump  and  tender,  and  fat  as  pos- 
sible ;  a  perfect  mass  of  white  savoury  oil. 

Klamat  was  a  splendid  hunter,  and  even  without 
the  aid  of  the  Indian  dogs,  managed  to  take  several 
bears  this  first  winter,  which,  after  all,  was  not  so  long 
and  dull  as  one  would  suppose.  I  sometimes  think 
we  partook  somewhat  of  the  nature  of  the  bear,  in 
our  little  snowy  cabin  among  the  firs  that  winter, 
for  before  we  hardly  suspected  it,  the  birds  came 
back,  and  spring  was  fairly  upon  us. 

When  the  snow  had  disappeared,  and  our  horses 
grew  sleek  and  fat  and  strong  again,  Klamat  and  I 


244  THE  LOST  CABIN. 

rode  far  into  the  pines  together  and  found  a  lake 
where  the  wild  geese  built  nests  in  the  margin  among 
the  tules. 

The  Prince  and  the  Doctor  went  up  the  canon  in 
search  of  gold,  for  want  of  something  better  to  do,  and 
by  the  time  the  summer  set  in,  had  found  a  deposit  in 
a  quartz  ledge,  looking  up  towards  the  mountain. 
Gold  appeared  to  be  not  over  abundant  nor  did  it 
seem  to  be  much  prized.  No  great  plans,  no  excite- 
ment, that  usually  attends  a  discovery.  These  two 
men  seemed  to  care  more  for  it  as  a  proof  of  their 
theory  about  the  origin  and  growth  of  gold  than  for 
the  gold  itself. 

They  brought  in  and  laid  on  a  shelf  in  the  corner 
pieces  of  gold  and  quartz  with  as  little  concern  as 
if  they  had  been  geological  specimens  of  slate  or 
granite.  You  cannot  be  greatly  surprised  at  this, 
however,  when  you  remember  how  plentiful  gold 
was,  how  little  it  was  worth  there,  and  that  at  that 
time  it  was  thought  to  abound  in  every  canon  in  the 
country. 

Paquita  had  not  returned.  "We  had  come  almost 
not  to  mention  her  now  at  all.  Often  and  often,  all 
through  the  spring  and  early  summer,  I  saw  the 
Prince  stand  out  as  the  sun  went  down,  and  shade 
his  brow  with  his  hand,  looking  the  way  she  had 
gone.  I  think  it  was  this  that  kept  him  here  so 
faithfully.     He   would   not   remain    away   a    single 


THE  LOST  CABIN.  245 

night,  either  to  hunt  for  gold  or  game,  lest  she  might 
return,  find  him  away,  and  need  in  some  way  his 
assistance. 

The  Doctor  sometimes  took  long  journeys  down 
toward  the  valley  to  the  south,  and  even  fell  in  with 
white  men,  as  well  as  Indians,  after  two  or  three 
days'  ride  in  that  direction,  and  thought  of  going 
down  that  way  out  of  the  reach  of  the  snow,  and 
building  him  a  house  for  the  winter.  No  one 
objected  to  this ;  but  when  he  was  ready  to  go  away, 
the  Prince  compelled  him  to  take  all  the  gold  they 
had  taken  from  the  mine,  even  against  his  utmost 
remonstrance. 

"  Take  it,"  said  the  Prince,  "  every  ounce  of  it. 
You  may  be  called  to  use  it.  Here  it  is  not  worth 
that  much  lead."  And  he  put  the  buckskin  bag 
into  the  Doctors  catenas,  and  resolutely  buckled 
them  down. 

Another  incident  worth  mentioning  is  their  agree- 
ment to  never  reveal  the  existence  of  the  mine. 
Their  reasons  were  of  the  noblest  kind,  sufficient, 
above  every  selfish  consideration. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  they,  "  the  gold  is  of 
doubtful  utility  to  the  world  at  best.  But  if  this 
mine  is  made  known,  a  flood  of  people  will  pour  in 
here ;  the  game,  the  forests,  all  this  wild,  splendid 
part  of  nature  will  disappear.  The  white  man  and 
the  red  man  will  antagonize,  the  massacre   of   the 


246  TEE  LOST  CABIN. 

Klamat  will  be  repeated;  and  for  all  this,  what 
will  be  the  consideration  %  Nothing,  whatever,  but 
gold,  and  we  have  quite  enough  of  that, — and  what 
do  we  owe  the  world  V 

Back  of  all  this,  it  was  extremely  doubtful 
whether  the  mine  would  yield  anything  better  than 
this  little  "  pocket." 

For  my  own  part,  I  would  banish  gold  and  silver, 
as  a  commercial  medium,  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
I  would  abolish  the  use  of  gold  and  silver  alto- 
gether, have  paper  currency,  and  but  one  currency 
in  all  the  world.  I  propose  to  take  all  the  strong 
men  now  in  the  mines  down  from  the  mountains, 
and  build  ships  and  cities  by  the  sea,  and  make  a 
permanent  commonwealth. 

These  thousands  of  men  can,  at  best,  in  a  year's 
time,  only  take  out  a  few  millions  of  gold.  A  ship 
goes  to  sea  and  sinks  with  all  these  millions,  and  there 
all  that  labour  is  lost  to  the  world  for  ever.  Had 
these  millions  been  in  paper,  only  a  few  hours' 
labour  would  have  been  lost.  There  are  two  hundred 
thousand  men,  the  best  and  bravest  men  in  the  world, 
wasting  the  best  years  of  their  lives  getting  out  this 
gold.  They  are  turning  over  the  mountains,  de- 
stroying the  forests,  and  filling  up  the  rivers.  They 
make  the  land  unfit  even  for  savages.  Take  them 
down  from  the  mountains,  throw  one  half  their 
strength   and   energy   against    the    wild,   rich    sea- 


THE  LOST  CABIJST.  247 

border  of  the  Pacific,  and  we  would  have,  instead  of 
these  broken  mountains,  muddied  rivers,  and  ruined 
forests,  such  an  Eden  as  has  not  been  seen  by  man 
since  the  days  of  Adam. 

At  last  Paquita  came.  The  Prince  went  forth 
to  meet  her  with  his  arms  held  out,  but  she  was 
too  bashful  and  beautiful  to  touch. 

And  why  had  she  not  returned  before  \  It  is  a 
sad  story,  but  soon  told. 

When  she  reached  the  region  of  her  father's  camp, 
she  found  the  grass  growing  in  the  trails.  She  found 
no  sisters  to  receive  her;  no  woman  to  bring  her 
water;  not  a  human  being  in  all  the  lodges.  The 
weeds  grew  rank,  and  the  wolves  had  possession. 

The  white  men  in  her  absence  had  made  another 
successful  campaign  against  her  people.  They  had 
become  dispirited,  and,  never  over-provident,  finding 
the  country  overrun,  the  game  made  wild  and  scarce, 
and  the  fish  failing  to  come  up  the  muddied  Sacra- 
mento, they  had  neglected  to  prepare  for  winter,  and 
so  had  perished  by  whole  villages. 

These  singular  people  perish  so  easily  from  con- 
tact with  the  whites,  that  they  seem  to  me  like  the 
ripened  fruit  ready  to  fall  at  the  first  shaking. 

She  had  found  none  of  her  tribe  till  she  passed 
away  on  to  the  Tula  lakes,  and  then  of  all  her  family 
found  only  two  brothers.  These,  with  some  young 
warriors,  had  now  come  with  her  on  her  return. 


248  THE  LOST  CABIN. 

They  dismounted  and  built  a  fire  under  the  trees 
and  apart  from  us,  and  only  slowly  came  to  com- 
municate, to  smoke,  and  show  any  hospitality  at  all. 
Paquita  was  all  kindness ;  but  she  had  become 
a  woman  now;  the  state  of  things  was  changed. 
Then  the  eyes  of  her  sober,  savage  brothers — 
who  could  ill  brook  the  presence  of  the  white 
man,  much  less  look  with  favour  on  familiarities 
— were  upon  her,  and  she  became  the  quiet,  silent 
Indian  woman,  instead  of  the  lively  little  maiden 
who  had  frolicked  on  the  hill-sides  and  wandered 
through  the  woods  the  year  before. 

They  remained  camped  here  many  days.  Klamat 
took  the  young  chiefs  up  to  the  mine, — only  a  little 
crevice  picked  out  in  the  rotten  quartz, — and  they 
looked  at  it  long  and  curiously.  Then  they  picked 
up  some  little  pieces  of  gold  that  lay  there,  looked  at 
them,  put  them  in  their  mouths,  spit  them  out,  and 
threw  them  down  on  the  ground. 

After  that  they  came  down  to  the  cabin. 

"You  have  saved  our  sister,"  the  eldest  said, 
among  other  things,  "  and  we  like  you  for  that,  and 
owe  you  all  that  we  can  give ;  but  you  did  not  save 
her  from  a  bear  or  a  flood, — you  only  saved  her 
from  your  own  people,  so  that  it  is  not  so  much. 
But  even  if  you  did  save  one  of  us  in  the  bravest  wray, 
that  is  no  reason  why  you  shall  help  to  destroy  us 
all.     If  you  bring  men  and  dig  gold  here,  we  must 


THE  LOST  CABIN.  249 

all  die.  We  know  how  that  is.  You  may  stay  here, 
dig  gold,  hunt,  live  here  all  your  lives ;  but  if  you  let 
this  be  known,  and  bring  men  up  here,  we  will  shoot 
them  from  behind  the  trees,  steal  their  horses,  and 
destroy  them  every  way  we  can." 

Paquita  herself  repeated  this,  interpreted  what  we 
did  not  understand,  and  told  us  emphatically  that 
what  her  brothers  said  was  true.  Noble  Indian 
woman.     She  was  right. 

The  Prince  answered  very  kindly  and  earnestly. 
He  told  them  they  were  right.  He  told  them  that 
no  one  should  hear  of  the  mine ;  and  at  the  last,  he 
lifted  up  his  hand  to  Mount  Shasta,  and  before  the 
God  of  the  white  man  and  the  red  man,  promised 
that  no  white  men  should  come  there,  with  his  con- 
sent, while  he  remained. 

Paquita  returned  soon  after  this  with  her  people 
to  her  village,  and  it  was  lonely  enough  to  be  sure. 
The  Prince  grew  restless ;  and  at  last,  after  we  had 
earned  out  some  few  specimens  from  the  ledge,  we 
mounted  our  horses,  and  set  out  for  the  settlement 
to  procure  supplies.  We  went  by  a  circuitous  way 
to  avoid  suspicion. 

The  Indian  boy,  our  strange  manner  of  dress,  and 
the  Prince's  lavish  use  of  money,  soon  excited  remark 
and  observation.  New  rich  mines  were  becoming 
scarce,  and  there  were  hordes  of  men  waiting  eagerly 
in  every  camp  for  some  new  thing  to  come  to  the 


250  TEE  LOST  CABIN. 

surface.  We  were  closely  watched,  but  did  not 
suspect  it  then. 

One  day  the  Prince  met  a  child  in  an  immigrant 
camp,  the  first  he  had  seen  for  a  long  time.  He 
stopped,  took  from  his  buckskin  purse  a  rough  nug- 
get, half  quartz  and  half  gold,  gave  it  to  the  boy, 
patted  him  on  the  head,  and  passed  on.  A  very 
foolish  thing. 

After  obtaining  our  supplies,  we  set  out  to  return. 
The  evening  of  the  last  day  in  the  settlement  we 
camped  under  the  trees  by  a  creek,  close  by  some 
prospectors,  who  came  into  our  camp  after  the  blan- 
kets were  spread,  and  sat  about  the  fire  cursing  their 
hard  luck;  long-haired,  dirty-habited,  and  ugly- 
looking  men  they  were.  One  was  a  sickly-looking 
man,  a  singularly  tall,  pale  man,  who  had  but  little 
to  say.  There  was  some  gold  left.  It  was  of  no  pos- 
sible use  to  us.  The  Prince  took  him  to  one  side, 
gave  him  the  purse,  and  told  him  to  take  it  and  go 
home.  Another  extremely  silly  thing.  This  man, 
meaning  no  harm  of  course,  could  not  keep  the  secret 
of  the  few  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  gold  dust,  and 
soon  the  whole  affair,  wonderfully  magnified  too,  was 
blown  all  over  the  country. 

When  we  found  we  were  being  followed,  we  led  a 
sorry  race  indeed,  and  went  in  all  directions.  Klamat 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  it,  and  played  some  strange 
forest  tricks  on  the  poor  prospectors. 


TEE  LOST  CABIN.  251 

We  eluded  them  all  at  last,  and  reached  the  cabin. 
But  we  had  laid  the  foundation  for  many  a  mountain 
venture.  What  extravagant  tales  were  told  !  There 
was  a  perfect  army  of  us — half  Indians,  half  white 
men.  Our  horses  were  shod  backward — an  old  story. 
Then,  again,  our  horses'  feet  were  bound  up  in 
gunny-bags,  so  as  to  leave  no  track.  An  impossible 
thing,  for  a  horse  will  not  take  a  single  step  with  his 
feet  in  muffles. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

GOOD-BYE. 

HESE  Indians,  and  all  Indians  for  that 
matter,  have  some  strange  customs,  at  which 
we  laugh,  or  talk  of  in  a  mild,  missionary, 
patronizing  sort  of  a  way. 

Did  it  ever  occur  to  an  American  sovereign,  as  he 
lifted  up  his  voice  in  the  public  places,  and  thanked 
God  that  he  is  not  as  Indians  are,  that  they  may 
possibly  laugh  at  some  of  his  customs  too  ?  I  think 
it  never  did. 

When  an  Indian  gets  sick  his  friends  have  a  dance. 
When  a  white  man  begins  to  lose  his  hair  he  rushes 
off  to  a  barber,  and  has  what  he  has  left  cut  oif  to 
the  scalp.  Nature,  always  obliging,  comes  to  his 
assistance  then ;  and  he  never  has  to  have  any  great 
portion  of  it  cut  again,  but  is  permitted  to  make  the 
rest  of  the  journey  with  his  head  as  bright  and 
naked  as  a  globe. 

Very  odd  to  have  a  dance  when  you  get  ill ;  but 

not  half  so  odd  as  it  is  to  cut  off  your  hair  to  save 

252 


GOOD-BYE.  253 

your  hair.  Indians,  who  never  cut  the  hair,  and 
women  also,  who  until  recently  wore  their  hair 
nearly  natural,  never  are  bald.  Yet  I  reckon  men 
have  gone  on  cutting  their  hair  for  baldness,  the  very 
thing  that  brings  it  on,  for  thousands  of  years  past, 
and,  I  suppose,  will  still  go  on  doing  so  for  thou- 
sands of  years  to  come. 

We  received  some  visits  now  from  the  chief  of  the 
Shastas.  He  was  not  a  tall  man,  as  one  would 
suppose  who  had  seen  his  warriors,  but  a  giant  in 
strength.  You  would  have  said,  surely  this  man  is 
part  grizzly  bear.  As  I  have  said  before,  he  was 
bearded  like  a  prophet. 

I  now  began  to  spend  days  and  even  weeks  in  the 
Indian  village  over  towards  the  south  in  a  canon, 
took  part  in  the  sports  of  the  young  men,  listened  to 
the  teachings  and  tales  of  the  old,  and  was  not  un- 
happy. 

The  Prince  was  losing  his  old  cheerfulness  as 
the  summer  advanced,  and  once  or  twice  he  half 
hinted  of  taking  a  long  journey  away  to  the  world 
below. 

At  such  times  I  would  so  wish  to  ask  him  where 
was  his  home,  and  why  he  had  left  it,  but  could  not 
summon  courage.  As  for  myself,  let  it  be  here 
understood,  once  for  all,  that  when  a  man  once  casts 
his  lot  in  with  the  Indians  he  need  return  to  his 
friends  no  more,  unless  he  has  grown  so  strong  of 


254  GOOD-BYE. 

soul  that  he  does  not  need  their  countenance,  for  he  is 
with  them  disgraced  for  ever.  I  had  crossed  the 
Rubicon. 

It  was  the  time  of  the  Autumn  Feasts,  when  the 
Indians  meet  together  on  a  high  oak  plain,  a  sort  of 
hem  of  the  mountain,  overlooking  the  far  valley  of 
the  Sacramento,  to  celebrate  in  dance  and  song 
their  battles  of  the  summer  and  recount  the  virtues 
of  their  dead.  On  this  spot,  among  the  oaks,  their 
fathers  had  met  for  many  and  many  a  generation. 
Here  all  were  expected  to  come  in  rich  and  gay 
attire,  and  to  give  themselves  up  to  feasting  and 
the  dance,  and  show  no  care  in  their  faces,  no 
matter  how  hard  fortune  had  been  upon  them. 

Indian  summer,  this.  A  mellowness  and  balm  in 
all  the  atmosphere ;  a  haze  hanging  over  all  things, 
and  all  things  still  and  weary  like,  like  a  summer 
sunset. 

The  manzineta-berries  were  yellow  as  gold,  the 
rich  anther  was  here,  the  maple  and  the  dogwood  that 
fringed  the  edge  of  the  plain  were  red  as  scarlet,  and 
set  against  the  wall  of  firs  in  their  dark,  eternal  green. 

The  scene  of  the  feast  was  a  day's  ride  from  the 
cabin,  and  the  Prince  and  I  were  expected  to  attend. 
Paquita  would  of  course  be  there,  and  who  shall 
say  we  had  not  both  looked  forward  to  this  day  with 
eagerness  and  delight  ? 

Gold,  in  any  quantity,  except  in  romance,  is  the 


GOODBYE.  255 

heaviest  and  hardest  thing  to  carry  and  keep  with 
you  in  your  wanderings  in  the  mountains  you  can 
imagine. 

We  had  saved  only  a  trifle  of  dust  compared  to  the 
amount  report  credited  us  with.  This  we  put  in 
four  little  buckskin  bags,  each  taking  two  and  placing 
them  one  in  the  left  and  one  in  the  right  pocket  of 
his  catenas.  This  held  them  to  their  places  in  hard 
rides ;  besides  it  was  a  sort  of  laying  in  of  stores  for 
some  storm  that  might  blow  in  upon  us  at  any  moment. 
Even  if  the  lessons  of  the  squirrels  and  the  Indian 
women,  all  the  autumn  days  laying  up  their  stores 
for  winter,  had  gone  for  nought,  the  lesson  of  the 
Humbug  miners  was  not  forgotten.  And  yet  I  had 
no  idea  that  any  grave  danger  could  overtake  us 
there,  and  I  am  certain  I  had  no  desire  to  leave  the 
peaceful  old  forests  and  the  calm  delight  of  the 
mountain  camp. 

Of  course  I  was  very  silly,  as  most  young  people 
are ;  but  it  seemed  to  me  the  world  below  was  but 
a  small  affair,  and  all  the  people  in  it  of  but  little 
consequence,  so  long  as  Paquita  and  the  Prince 
were  remaining  in  the  mountains. 

Had  they  gone  down  into  the  world,  then  the 
mountains  had  been  rugged  and  cold  enough,  no 
doubt,  and  the  world  below  much  like  home ;  but 
while  they  remained  I  had  no  thought  of  going 
away. 


256  GOOD-BYE. 

The  mine  did  not  promise  much  after  all.  We 
began  to  have  a  strong  suspicion  that  we  had  only 
chanced  upon  a  pouch  in  the  rock — a  little  "  chimney  " 
that  nurses  a  few  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  dust 
about  the  flue,  and  nothing  more — with  the  quartz 
rock  back  of  this,  as  barren  and  hard  as  flint.  A 
common  thing  is  this,  and  the  most  disappointing  of  all 
things.  Years  ago,  before  the  miners  began  to  learn 
this,  many  a  fortune  was  squandered  in  erecting 
mills  on  ledges  that  never  offered  any  further  re- 
ward than  the  one  little  pocket. 

We  went  to  the  feast — rode  through  the  forest 
in  a  sort  of  dream.  How  lovely  !  The  deer  were 
going  in  long  bands  down  their  worn  paths  to  the 
plains  below,  away  from  the  approaching  winter. 
The  black  bears  were  fat  and  indolent,  and  fairly 
shone  in  their  rich  oily  coats,  as  they  crossed  the 
trail  before  us. 

Hundreds  were  at  the  feast,  and  we  were  more 
than  welcome.  The  Chief  came  first,  his  warriors 
by  his  side,  to  give  us  the  pipe  of  peace  and  welcome, 
and  then  a  great  circle  gathered  around  the  fire,  seated 
on  their  robes  and  the  leaves ;  and  as  the  pipe  went 
round,  the  brown  girls  danced  gay  and  beautiful, 
half-nude,  in  their  rich  black  hair,  and  flowing  robes. 

But  Paquita  was  shy.  She  would  not  dance, 
for  somehow  she  seemed  to  consider  that  this 
was  a  kind  of  savage  entertainment,  and  out  of  place 


GOODBYE.  257 

for  her.  She  had  seen  just  enough  of  civilized  life 
to  deprive  her  of  the  pleasures  of  the  wild  and  free. 

There  had  grown  a  cast  of  care  upon  her  lovely- 
face  of  late.  She  was  in  secret  of  all  the  Indians' 
plans.  At  least  she  was  a  true  Indian — true  to  the 
rights  of  her  race,  and  fully  awake  to  a  sense  of  their 
wrongs. 

She  was  surely  lovelier  now  than  ever  before ;  tall, 
and  lithe,  and  graceful  as  a  mountain  lily  swayed  by 
the  breath  of  morning.  On  her  face,  through  the 
tint  of  brown,  lay  the  blush  and  flush  of  maidenhood, 
the  indescribable  sacred  something  that  makes  a 
maiden  holy  to  every  man  of  a  manly  and  chivalrous 
nature ;  that  makes  a  man  utterly  unselfish,  and  per- 
fectly content  to  love  and  be  silent,  to  worship  at  a 
distance,  as  turning  to  the  holy  shrine  of  Mecca,  to 
be  still  and  bide  his  time ;  caring  not  to  possess 
in  the  low  coarse  way  that  characterizes  your 
common  love  of  to-day,  but  choosing  rather  to  go 
to  battle  for  her, — bearing  her  in  his  heart  through 
many  lands,  through  storms  and  death,  with  only 
a  word  of  hope,  a  smile,  a  wave  of  the  hand  from  a 
wall,  a  kiss  blown  far,  as  he  mounts  his  steed  below 
and  plunges  into  the  night.  That  is  a  love  to  live 
for.  I  say  the  knights  of  Spain,  bloody  as  they 
were,  were  a  noble  and  a  splendid  type  of  men  in 
their  way. 

The  Prince  was  of  this  manner  of  men.     He  was 
Q 


258  GOOD-BYE. 

by  nature  a  knight  of  the  chivalrous,  grand  old  days 
of  Spain,  a  hero  born  out  of  time,  and  blown  out  of 
place,  in  the  mines  and  mountains  of  the  North. 

Once  he  had  taken  Paquita  in  his  arms,  had  folded 
a  robe  around  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  babe.  She 
was  all — everything  to  him.  He  renounced  all  this. 
Now  he  did  not  even  touch  her  hand. 

The  old  earnestness  and  perplexity  had  come  upon 
the  Prince  again  on  our  coming  to  the  feast.  Once, 
when  the  dance  and  song  ran  swift  and  loud  and 
all  was  merriment,  I  saw  him  standing  out  from 
the  circle  of  warriors,  of  young  maidens  and  men, 
with  folded  arms,  looking  out  on  the  land  below. 
I  had  too  much  respect,  nay  reverence,  for  this  man 
to  disturb  him.  I  leaned  against  a  tree  and  looked 
as  he  looked.  Once  his  eyes  left  the  dance  before 
him,  and  stole  timidly  toward  the  place  where 
Paquita  sat  with  her  brother  watching  the  dance. 
"What  a  devotion  in  his  face.  I  could  not  understand 
him.  Now  he  turned  to  the  valley  again,  tapped 
the  ground  with  his  foot  in  the  old,  restless  way, 
but  his  eyes  soon  wandered  back  to  Paquita.  At 
last  my  gaze  met  his.  He  blushed  deeply,  held  down 
his  head  and  walked  away  in  silence. 

The  next  day  was  the  time  set  apart  for  feats  of 
horsemanship.  The  band  was  driven  in,  all  common 
property,  and  the  men  selected  their  horses.  The 
Prince  drew  out  with  his  lasso  a  stout  black  steed, 


>&$5W  ^ 


THE  FAREWELL. 


GOODBYE.  259 

with  a  neck  like  a  bull.  His  mane  poured  down  on 
either  side,  or  stood  erect  like  a  crest ;  a  wiry,  savage, 
untrained  horse  that  struck  out  with  his  feet,  like  an 
elk  at  bay.  He  saddled  him,  and  led  him  out  all 
ready  now,  where  the  other  horses  stood  in  line,  then 
came  to  me,  walked  a  little  way  to  one  side,  put  out 
one  hand  and  with  the  other  drew  me  close  to  him, 
held  down  his  head  to  my  uplifted  face,  and  said, 

"  Good-bye." 

I  sprang  up  and  seized  hold  of  him,  but  he  went 
on  calmly — 

"  I  must  go  away.  You  are  happy  here ;  you  will 
remain,  but  I  must  go.  After  many  years  I  will 
return.  You  will  meet  me  here  on  this  spot,  years 
and  years  from  to-day.  Yes,  it  will  be  many  years ; 
a  long  time.  But  it  is  short  enough,  and  long  enough. 
I  will  forget  her — it — I  will  forget  by  that  time,  you 
see,  and  then  there  is  all  the  whole  world  before  me 
to  wander  in." 

He  made  the  sign  of  departure.  The  chief  came 
forward,  Paquita  came  and  stood  at  his  side.  He 
reached  his  hands,  took  her  in  his  arms,  pressed  her 
to  his  breast  an  instant,  kissed  her  pure  brow  once, 
with  her  great  black  eyes  lifted  to  his,  but  said  no 
word. 

The  Indians  were  mute  with  wonder  and  sorrow. 
When  you  give  the  sign  of  going,  there  is  no  one  to 
say  nay  here.     No  one  importunes  you  to  stay ;  no 


260  GOOD-BYE. 

one  says  come  to  my  place  or  come  to  mine.  No 
such  folly.  You  know  that  you  are  welcome  to  one 
and  all,  and  they  know  that  if  you  wish  to  go,  you 
wish  to  go,  and  that  is  all  there  is  of  it.  This  is  the 
highest  type  of  politeness ;  the  perfect  hospitality. 

The  Prince  turned  to  his  steed,  drew  his  red  silk 
sash  tighter  about  his  waist,  undid  the  lasso,  wound 
the  lariat  on  his  arm,  and  wove  his  hand  in  the  flow- 
ing mane  as  the  black  horse  plunged  and  beat  the 
air  with  his  feet.  Then  he  set  him  back  on  his 
haunches,  sprang  from  the  ground,  and  forward 
plunged  the  steed  with  mane  like  a  storm,  down  the 
place  of  oaks,  pitching  towards  the  valley. 

The  trees  seemed  to  open  rank  as  he  passed,  and 
then  to  close  again ;  a  hand  was  lifted,  a  kiss  thrown 
back  across  the  shoulder,  and  he  was  gone — gone 
down  in  the  sea  below  us,  and  I  never  saw  my  Prince 
again  for  many  a  year.  Noble,  generous,  self-denying 
Prince  !  The  most  splendid  type  of  the  chivalric  and 
the  perfect  man  I  had  ever  met. 

All  this  was  so  sudden  that  I  hardly  felt  the 
weight  of  it  at  first,  and  for  want  of  something  to 
do  to  fill  the  blank  that  followed,  I  mounted  my 
horse  and  took  part  in  the  sports  with  the  gayest  of 
the  gay. 

Indians  do  not  speak  of  anything  that  happens 
suddenly.  They  think  it  over,  all  to  themselves,  for 
days,  unless  it  is  a  thing  that  requires  some  action 


GOOD-BYE.  261 

or  expression  at  once,  and  then  speak  of  it  only 
cautiously  and  casually.  It  is  considered  very  vul- 
gar indeed  to  give  any  expression  to  surprise,  and 
nothing  is  more  out  of  taste  than  to  talk  about  a 
thing  that  you  have  not  first  had  good  time  to  think 
about. 

During  the  day  I  noticed  that  my  catenas  were 
heavier  than  usual,  and  unfastening  the  pockets,  I 
found  that  they  contained  all  four  of  the  bags  of 
gold. 

Why  had  he  left  himself  destitute?  Why  had 
he  gone  down  to  battle  with  the  world  without  a 
shield  ? — gone  to  fight  Goliath,  as  it  were,  without 
so  much  as  a  little  stone.  I  wanted  to  follow  him 
and  make  him  take  the  money — all  of  it.  I  despised 
it,  it  made  me  miserable.  But  I  had  learned  to  obey 
him,  to  listen  to  him  in  all  things.  And  was  he  not 
a  Prince  ? 

"  Ah !"  said  I  to  myself,  at  last,  "  he  has  gone 
down  to  take  possession  of  his  throne.  He  will 
cross  the  seas  and  see  maidens  fair  indeed,  nearly  as 
lovely  in  some  respects  as  Faqiin^;''  and  this  was 
my  consolation. 

"  Years  and  years,"  I  said  to  myself  that  night  as  I 
looked  in  the  fire,  and  the  dance  went  on ;  "  Years 
and  years  P1  I  counted  it  upon  my  fingers,  and  said 
— "  I  will  be  dead  then." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


the  Indians'  account  op  the  creation. 


NOW  became  almost  thoroughly  an  In- 
dian. The  clash  and  struggle  of  the  world 
below  had  ground  upon  my  nerves,  and  I 
was  glad  to  get  away.  Perhaps  by  nature  I  inclined 
to  the  dreamy  and  careless  life  of  the  Arabs  of 
America ;  certainly  my  sympathies  had  always  been 
with  them,  and  now  my  whole  heart  and  soul  entered 
into  the  wild  life  in  the  forest.  In  fact  from  the  first 
few  months  I  had  spent  with  these  people — a  sort  of 
prisoner — I  had  a  keen  but  inexpressed  desire  to  be 
with  them  and  them  alone. 

Now  my  desire  was  wholly  gratified.  I  had  seen 
my  last,  my  only  friend  depart,  and  had  shut  the 
door  behind  him  with  a  slam — a  sort  of  fierce  delight 
that  I  should  be  left  alone  in  the  wilderness. 

No  more  plans  for  getting  money;  no  more  re- 
proach from  fast  and  clever  men  who  managed  the 
lower  world;  no  more  insults  from  the  coarse   and 

insolent ;  no  more  bumping  of  my  head  against  the 

262 


A  COO  UNT  OF  THE  ORE  A  T10N.  263 

customs  and  proprieties  of  a  half,  and  hence  tyran- 
nical, civilization  ; — nothing,  it  seemed  to  me  now,  but 
rest,  freedom,  absolute  independence. 

Did  I  dread  and  fear  the  primeval  curse  that  God 
has  put  upon  all  men,  and  so  seek  to  hide  away  from 
Him  in  the  dark  deep  forests  of  Shasta  ? 

I  think  not.  I  think  rather  that  all  men  have 
more  or  less  of  the  Arab  in  their  natures ;  and  but 
for  the  struggles  for  gold,  the  eddies  and  currents  of 
commerce,  and  the  emulation  of  men  in  art,  and  the 
like,  we  should  soon  become  gipsies,  Druids,  and 
wanderers  in  the  wild  and  fragrant  woods  that  would 
then  repossess  the  lands. 

Maybe  after  a  while,  when  the  children  of  men  are 
tired  and  weary  of  the  golden  toy  they  will  throw  it 
away,  rise  up  and  walk  out  into  the  woods,  never 
more  to  return  to  cities,  to  toil,  to  strife,  to  thraldom. 

But  the  Indian's  life  to  an  active  mind  is  monoto- 
nous, and  so  I  found  it  there ;  listless,  dull  and 
almost  melancholy.  We  rode,  we  fished,  we  hunted, 
and  hunted,  and  fished,  and  rode,  and  that  was  nearly 
all  we  could  do  by  day.  If,  however,  we  had  no 
intense  delights  we  had  no  great  concern.  We 
dreamed  dreams  and  built  castles  higher  than  the 
blue  columns  of  smoke  that  moved  towards  the 
heavens  through  the  dense  black  boughs  above.  And 
so  the  seasons  wore  away. 

Under   all    this,   of    course,   there    was    another 


264:  THE  INDIANS  A  CCO  UNT 

current,  deep  and  exhaustless.  Indians  have  their 
loves,  and  as  they  have  but  little  else,  these  fill  up 
most  of  their  lives.  That  I  had  mine  I  do  not  deny  ; 
and  how  much  this  had  to  do  with  my  remaining 
here  I  do  not  care  to  say.  Nor  can  I  bring  my  will 
to  write  of  myself  in  this  connection.  These  things 
must  remain  untold.  They  were  sincere  then,  and 
shall  be  sacred  now. 

At  night,  when  no  wars  or  excitement  of  any  kind 
stirred  the  village,  they  would  gather  in  the  chief's 
or  other  great  bark  lodges  around  the  fires,  and  tell 
and  listen  to  stories ;  a  red  wall  of  men  in  a  great 
circle,  the  women  a  little  back,  and  the  children  still 
behind,  asleep  in  the  skins  and  blankets.  How  silent ! 
You  never  hear  but  one  voice  at  a  time  in  an  Indian 
village. 

The  Indians  say  the  Great  Spirit  made  this  moun- 
tain first  of  all.  Can  you  not  see  how  it  is  ?  they 
say.  He  first  pushed  down  snow  and  ice  from  the 
skies  through  a  hole  which  he  made  in  the  blue 
heavens  by  turning  a  stone  round  and  round,  till 
he  made  this  great  mountain,  then  he  stepped  out 
of  the  clouds  on  to  the  mountain  top,  and  descended 
and  planted  the  tree  all  around  by  putting  his  finger 
on  the  ground.     Simple  and  sublime ! 

The  sun  melted  the  snow,  and  the  water  ran  down 
and  nurtured  the  trees  and  made  the  rivers.  After 
that  he  made  the  fish  for  the  rivers  out  of  the  small 


OF  TEE  CREATION.  265 

end  of  his  staff.  He  made  the  birds  by  blowing 
some  leaves  which  he  took  up  from  the  ground 
among  the  trees.  After  that  he  made  the  beasts  out 
of  the  remainder  of  his  stick,  but  made  the  grizzly 
bear  out  of  the  big  end,  and  made  him  master  over 
all  the  others.  He  made  the  grizzly  so  strong  that 
he  feared  him  himself,  and  would  have  to  go  up  on 
the  top  of  the  mountain  out  of  sight  of  the  forest  to 
sleep  at  night,  lest  the  grizzly,  who,  as  will  be  seen, 
was  much  more  strong  and  cunning  then  than  now, 
should  assail  him  in  his  sleep.  Afterwards,  the 
Great  Spirit  wishing  to  remain  on  earth,  and  make 
the  sea  and  some  more  land,  he  converted  Mount 
Shasta  by  a  great  deal  of  labour  into  a  wigwam,  and 
built  a  fire  in  the  centre  of  it  and  made  it  a  pleasant 
home.  After  that  his  family  came  down,  and  they 
all  have  lived  in  the  mountain  ever  since.  They  say 
that  before  the  white  man  came  they  could  see  the 
fire  ascending  from  the  mountain  by  night  and  the 
smoke  by  day,  every  time  they  chose  to  look  in  that 
direction. 

This,  I  have  no  doubt,  is  true.  Mount  Shasta  is 
even  now,  in  one  sense  of  the  word,  an  active  vol- 
cano. Sometimes  only  hot  steam,  bringing  up  with 
it  a  fine  powdered  sulphur,  staining  yellow  the  snow 
and  ice,  is  thrown  off.  Then  again  boiling  water, 
clear  at  one  time  and  then  muddy  enough,  boils  up 
through  the  fissures  and  flows  off  into  a  little  pool 


266  THE  INDIANS'  A  CCO  VNT 

within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  summit.  It  is  very- 
unsettled  and  uncertain.  Sometimes  you  hear  most 
unearthly  noises  even  a  mile  from  the  little  crater,  as 
you  ascend,  and  when  you  approach,  a  tumult  like  a 
thousand  engines  with  whistles  of  as  many  keys; 
then  again  you  find  the  mountain  on  its  good  behav- 
ior and  sober  enough. 

Once  it  was  thought  a  rare  achievement  to  make 
the  ascent  of  Mount  Shasta  ;  now  I  find  that  almost 
every  summer  some  travellers  and  residents  make 
the  ascent.  This  must  not  be  undertaken,  however, 
when  the  arid  sage  brush  plains  of  the  east  are 
drawing  the  winds  across  from  the  sea.  You  would 
at  such  a  time  be  blown  through  the  clouds  like  a 
feather. 

Two  days  only  are  required  to  make  the  crater 
from  the  ranches  in  Shasta  valley  at  the  north 
base  of  the  mountain.  The  first  day  you  ride 
through  the  dense  forest — a  hard  day's  journey  in- 
deed— up  to  the  snow  line,  where  you  sleep,  leave 
your  horses,  and  with  pike  and  staff  confront  the  ice 
and  snow. 

I  ascended  this  mountain  the  last  time  more  than 
fifteen  years  ago.  It  was  soon  after  I  first  returned 
to  the  Indians.  I  acted  as  guide  for  some  travelling, 
solemn,  self-important-looking  missionaries  in  black 
clothes,  spectacles  and  beaver  hats.  They  gave  me 
some  tracts,  and  paid  me  for  my  services  in  prayers 


OF  TEE  CREATION.  267 

and  sermons.  The  memories  of  the  trip  were  so 
unpleasant  that  I  never  had  courage  or  desire  to 
undertake  it  again. 

There  is  but  one  incident  in  it  all  that  I  have  ever 
recalled  with  pleasure.  I  had  come  out  of  the  forest 
like  a  shadow,  timid,  shrinking,  sensitive,  to  these 
men :  like  an  Indian,  eager  to  lead  them,  to  do  them 
any  service  for  some  kind  words,  some  sympathy, 
some  recognition  from  these  great,  good  men,  wise 
and  learned,  who  professed  to  stand  so  near  the 
throne  eternal,  who  were  so  anxious  for  the  heathen. 
I  led  and  fed  and  watered  and  groomed  their  horses. 
I  watched  while  they  slej)t,  spread  their  blankets 
beneath  the  trees  on  the  dry  soil,  folded  and  packed 
them,  headed  the  gorges,  shunned  the  chaparral 
and  bore  on  my  own  shoulders  all  the  toils,  and  took 
on  my  own  breast  all  the  dangers  of  the  day.  I 
found  them  the  most  sour,  selfish,  and  ungrateful 
wretches  on  earth.  But  I  led  them  to  the  summit 
— two  of  them  only — jDanting,  blowing,  groaning  at 
every  step.  The  others  had  sat  down  on  blocks  of 
ice  and  snow  below.  These  two  did  not  remain  a 
moment.  They  did  not  even  lift  their  eyes  to  the 
glory  that  lay  to  the  right  or  to  the  left.  What  to 
them  was  the  far  faint  line  of  the  sea  to  the  west ; 
the  long  white  lakes  that  looked  like  snow  drifts,  a 
hundred  miles  away  to  the  east?  Had  they  not 
been  on  the  summit  \     Had  they  not  said  a  prayer 


268  THE  INDIANS'  ACCOUNT 

and  left  tracts  there  I  Could  they  not  have  that  to 
say,  to  report,  to  write  about  ?  Was  all  this  not 
enough  ? 

Hastily,  indeed,  they  muttered  something,  hurriedly 
drew  some  tracts  from  their  pockets,  brought  far 
away  into  this  wilderness  by  these  wise,  good  men, 
for  the  benighted  heathen,  then  turned  as  if  afraid 
to  stay,  and  retraced  their  steps. 

I  hated  these  men,  so  manifestly  unfit  for  any- 
thing like  a  Christian  act — despised  them,  not  their 
books  or  their  professed  work.  When  I  had  swept 
my  eyes  around  on  the  space  below  and  photo- 
graphed the  world  for  myself,  I  turned  and  saw 
these  tract-leaves  fluttering  at  my  feet,  in  the  wind, 
in  the  snow,  like  the  wings  of  a  wounded  bird.  A 
strange,  fierce  fit  of  inspiration  possessed  me  then.  I 
drew  my  bowie-knife,  drove  it  through  the  open, 
fluttering  leaves,  and  pinned  them  to  the  snow,  then 
turned  to  descend  the  mountain,  with  a  chuckle  of 
delight. 

These  wild  people  of  the  forest  about  the  base  of 
Mount  Shasta,  by  their  valour,  their  savage  defiance 
of  the  white  man,  and  many  commendable  traits, 
make  good  their  claim  to  be  called  the  first  of  the 
land.  They  are  much  nobler,  physically,  than  any 
other  tribes  of  Indians  found  between  the  Nez-Perces 
of  the  north  and  the  Apaches  of  the  south.  They 
raise  no  grain,  rarely  dig  roots,  but  subsist  chiefly  on 
meat,  acorn  bread,  nuts  and  fish. 


OF  THE  CREATION.  269 

These  Indians  have  a  great  thirst  for  knowledge, 
particularly  of  the  location  and  extent  of  countries. 
They  are  great  travellers.  The  fact  is,  all  Indians 
are  great  travellers.  In  any  tribe,  even  in  the  deserts 
of  Arizona,  or  the  tribes  of  the  plains,  you  will  find 
guides  who  can  lead  you  directly  to  the  sea  to  the 
west,  or  the  Sierras  to  the  east.  .  A  traveller  with 
them  is  always  a  guest.  He  repays  the  hospitality 
he  receives  by  relating  his  travels  and  telling  of  the 
various  tribes  he  has  visited,  their  extent,  location, 
and  strength.  No  matter  if  the  traveller  is  from  a 
hostile  tribe,  he  is  treated  well  and  allowed  to  pass 
through  any  part  of  the  country,  and  go  and  come 
when  he  likes.  Having  no  fortresses,  and  being 
constantly  on  the  move,  makes  it  perfectly  safe  for 
them  to  let  their  camps  and  locations  be  known  to  all. 

A  story-teller  is  held  in  great  repute ;  but  he  is 
not  permitted  to  lie  or  romance  under  any  circum- 
stances. All  he  says  must  bear  the  stamp  of  truth, 
or  he  is  disgraced  forever.  Telling  stories,  their 
history,  traditions,  travels,  and  giving  and  receiving 
lessons  in  geography,  are  their  chief  diversion 
around  their  camp  and  wigwam  fires  at  night ; 
except  the  popular  and  never-exhausted  subject  of 
their  wars  with  the  white  man,  and  the  wrongs  of 
their  race. 

Geography  is  taught  hj  making  maps  in  the  sand 
or  ashes  with  a  stick.     For  example,  the  sea  a  hundred 


270  THE  INDIANS'  A  CCO  TJNT 

miles  away  is  taken  as  a  base.  A  long  line  is  drawn 
there,  and  rivers  are  led  into  the  sea  by  little 
crooked  marks  in  the  sand.  Then  sand  or  ashes  are 
heaped  or  thrown  in  ridges  to  show  the  ranges  of 
mountains. 

This  tribe  is  defined  as  having  possessions  of  such 
and  such  an  extent  on  the  sea.  Another  tribe 
reaches  up  this  river  so  far  to  the  east  of  that  tribe, 
and  so  on,  till  a  thousand  miles  of  the  coast  are 
mapped  out  with  tolerable  accuracy.  In  these  exer- 
cises each  traveller,  or  any  one  who  by  his  age, 
observation,  or  learning,  is  supposed  to  know,  is 
expected  to  contribute  his  stock  of  information,  and 
aid  in  drawing  the  chart  correctly.  I  have  seen  the 
great  Willamette  valley,  hundreds  of  miles  away, 
which  they  call  Pooakan  Charook,  very  well  drawn, 
and  the  location  of  Mount  Hood  pointed  out  with 
precision.  They  also  chart  out  the  great  Sacra- 
mento valley,  which  they  call  Noorkan  Charook, 
or  South  Valley.  This  valley,  however,  although 
a  hundred  miles  away,  is  almost  in  sight.  They 
trace  the  Sacramento  River  correctly,  with  its 
crooks  and  deviations,  to  the  sea. 

Their  code  of  morals,  which  consists  chiefly  of  a 
contempt  of  death,  a  certainty  of  life  after  death, 
temperance  in  all  things,  and  sincerity,  is  taught  by 
old  men  too  old  for  war ;  and  these  lessons  are  given 
seldom,  generally  after  some  death  or  disaster,  when 


OF  THE  CREATION.  271 

the  young  men  are  depressed  and  not  disposed  to 
listen  to  tales  or  take  part  in  any  exercises  around 
the  camp.  The  women  never  attempt  to  teach  any- 
thing, or  even  to  correct  the  children.  In  fact,  the 
children  are  rarely  corrected.  To  tell  the  truth, 
they  are  not  at  all  vicious.  I  recall  no  rudeness 
on  their  part,  or  disrespect  for  their  parents  or 
travellers.  They  were  forty  fold  more  civil  than 
are  the  children  of  the  whites. 

Quite  likely  this  is  because  they  have  not  so 
many  temptations  to  do  wrong  as  white  children 
have.  They  have  a  natural  outlet  for  all  their  ener- 
gies ;  they  can  hunt,  fish,  trap,  dive  and  swim, 
run  in  the  woods,  ride,  shoot,  throw  the  lance,  do 
anything  they  like  in  like  directions,  and  only  receive 
praise  for  their  achievements. 

There  is  a  story  published  that  these  Indians  will 
not  ascend  Mount  Shasta  for  fear  of  the  Great 
Spirit  there.  This  is  only  partly  true.  They  will 
not  ascend  the  mountain  above  the  timber  line 
under  any  circumstances ;  but  it  is  not  fear  of  either 
good  or  evil  spirit  that  restrains  them.  It  is  their 
profound  veneration  for  the  Good  Spirit:  the  Great 
Spirit  who  dwells  in  this  mountain  with  his  people  as 
in  a  tent. 

This  mountain,  as  I  said  before,  they  hold  is  his 
wigwam,  and  the  opening  at  the  top  whence  the 
smoke  and  steam  escapes  is  the  smoke-place  of  his 


272  TEE  INDIANS'  A  CCO  UNT 

lodge,  and  the  entrance  also  from  the  earth.  An- 
other mistake,  which  I  wish  to  correct,  is  the  state- 
ment of  one  writer,  that  they  claim  the  grizzly  bear 
as  a  fallen  brother,  and  for  this  reason  refuse  to  kill 
or  molest  him.  This  is  far  from  the  truth.  Instead 
of  the  grizzly  bear  being  a  bad  Indian  undergoing  a 
sort  of  purgatory  for  his  sins,  he  is  held  to  be  a  pro- 
pagator of  their  race. 

The  Indian  account  of  their  creation  is  briefly 
this.  They  say  that  one  late  and  severe  spring-time 
many  thousand  snows  ago,  there  was  a  great  storm 
about  the  summit  of  Shasta,  and  that  the  great  Spirit 
sent  his  youngest  and  fairest  daughter,  of  whom  he 
was  very  fond,  up  to  the  hole  in  the  top,  bidding  her 
speak  to  the  storm  that  came  up  from  the  sea,  and 
tell  it  to  be  more  gentle  or  it  would  blow  the  moun- 
tain over.  He  bade  her  do  this  hastily,  and  not 
put  her  head  out,  lest  the  wind  would  catch  her  in 
the  hair  and  blow  her  away.  He  told  her  she  should 
only  thrust  out  her  long  red  arm  and  make  a  sign, 
and  then  speak  to  the  storm  without. 

The  child  hastened  to  the  top,  and  did  as  she  was 
bid,  and  was  about  to  return,  but  having  never  yet 
seen  the  ocean,  where  the  wind  was  born  and  made 
his  home,  when  it  was  white  with  the  storm,  she 
stopped,  turned,  and  put  her  head  out  to  look  that 
way,  when  lo  !  the  storm  caught  in  her  long  red  hair, 
and  blew  her  out  and  away  down  and   down  the 


OF  THE  CREATION.  273 

mountain  side.  Here  she  could  not  fix  her  feet  in 
the  hard,  smooth  ice  and  snow,  and  so  slid  on  and  on 
down  to  the  dark  belt  of  firs  below  the  snow  rim. 

Now,  the  grizzly  bears  possessed  all  the  wood  and 
all  the  land  even  down  to  the  sea  at  that  time,  and 
were  very  numerous  and  very  powerful.  They  were 
not  exactly  beasts  then,  although  they  were  covered 
with  hair,  lived  in  caves,  and  had  sharp  claws ;  but 
they  walked  on  two  legs,  and  talked,  and  used  clubs 
to  fight  with,  instead  of  their  teeth  and  claws  as  they 
do  now. 

At  this  time,  there  was  a  family  of  grizzlies 
living  close  up  to  the  snow.  The  mother  had  lately 
brought  forth,  and  the  father  was  out  in  quest  of 
food  for  the  young,  when,  as  he  returned  with  his 
club  on  his  shoulder  and  a  young  elk  in  his  left  hand, 
he  saw  this  little  child,  red  like  fire,  hid  under  a  fir- 
bush,  with  her  long  hair  trailing  in  the  snow,  and 
shivering  with  fright  and  cold.  Not  knowing  what 
to  make  of  her,  he  took  her  to  the  old  mother,  who 
was  very  learned  in  all  things,  and  asked  her  what 
this  fair  and  frail  thing  was  that  he  had  found  shiver- 
ing under  a  fir-bush  in  the  snow.  The  old  mother 
Grizzly,  who  had  things  pretty  much  her  own  way, 
bade  him  leave  the  child  with  her,  but  never  men- 
tion it  to  any  one,  and  she-  would  share  her  breast 
with  her,  and  briug  her  up  with  the  other  children, 
and  maybe  some  great  good  would  come  of  it. 


274  THE  INDIANS'  A CCO  VNT 

The  old  mother  reared  her  as  she  promised  to  do, 
and  the  old  hairy  father  went  out  every  day  with  his 
club  on  his  shoulder  to  get  food  for  his  family  till 
they  were  all  grown  up,  and  able  to  do  for  them- 
selves. 

"Now,"  said  the  old  mother  Grizzly  to  the  old 
father  Grizzly,  as  he  stood  his  club  by  the  door  and 
sat  down  one  day,  "our  oldest  son  is  quite  grown 
up,  and  must  have  a  wife.  Now,  who  shall  it  be  but 
the  little  red  creature  you  found  in  the  snow  under 
the  black  fir-bush."  So  the  old  grizzly  father  kissed 
her,  said  she  was  very  wise,  then  took  up  his  club 
on  his  shoulder,  and  went  out  and  killed  some  meat 
for  the  marriage  feast. 

They  married,  and  were  very  happy,  and  many 
children  were  born  to  them.  But,  being  part  of 
the  Great  Spirit  and  part  of  the  grizzly  bear,  these 
children  did  not  exactly  resemble  either  of  their 
parents,  but  partook  somewhat  of  the  nature  and 
likeness  of  both.  Thus  was  the  red  man  created  ;  for 
these  children  were  the  first  Indians. 

All  the  other  grizzlies  throughout  the  black 
forests,  even  down  to  the  sea,  were  very  proud  and 
very  kind,  and  met  together,  and,  with  their  united 
strength,  built  for  the  lovely  little  red  princess  a 
wigwam  close  to  that  of  her  father,  the  Great  Spirit. 
This  is  what  is  now  called  "  Little  Mount  Shasta." 

After  many  years,  the   old   mother   Grizzly   felt 


OF  THE  CREATION.  275 

that  she  soon  must  die ;  and,  fearing  that  she  had 
done  wrong  in  detaining  the  child  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
she  could  not  rest  till  she  had  seen  him  and  restored 
him  his  long-lost  treasure,  and  asked  his  forgive- 
ness. 

With  this  object  in  view,  she  gathered  together  all 
the  grizzlies  at  the  new  and  magnificent  lodge  built 
for  the  Princess  and  her  children,  and  then  sent  her 
eldest  grandson  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Shasta,  in 
a  cloud,  to  speak  to  the  Great  Spirit  and  tell  him 
where  he  could  find  his  long-lost  daughter. 

When  the  Great  Spirit  heard  this  he  was  so  glad 
that  he  ran  down  the  mountain-side  on  the  south  so 
fast  and  strong  that  the  snow  was  melted  off  in 
places,  and  the  tokens  of  his  steps  remain  to  this 
day.  The  grizzlies  went  out  to  meet  him  by- 
thousands;  and  as  he  approached  they  stood  apart 
in  two  great  lines,  with  their  clubs  under  their  arms, 
and  so  opened  a  lane  by  which  he  passed  in  great 
state  to  the  lodge  where  his  daughter  sat  with  her 
children. 

But  when  he  saw  the  children,  and  learned  how 
the  grizzlies  that  he  had  created  had  betrayed 
him  into  the  creation  of  a  new  race,  he  was  very 
wroth,  and  frowned  on  the  old  mother  Grizzly  till 
she  died  on  the  spot.  At  this  the  grizzlies  all  set 
up  a  dreadful  howl;  but  he  took  his  daughter  on 
his  shoulder,  and  turning  to  all  the  grizzlies,  bade 


276  TEE  INDIANS  A  CCO  VNT 

them  hold  their  tongues,  get  down  on  their  hands 
and  knees,  and  so  remain  till  he  returned.  They 
did  as  they  were  "bid,  and  he  closed  the  door  of  the 
lodge  after  him,  drove  all  the  children  out  into  the 
world,  passed  out  and  up  the  mountain,  and  never 
returned  to  the  timber  any  more. 

So  the  grizzlies  could  not  rise  up  any  more,  or 
use  their  clubs,  but  have  ever  since  had  to  go  on  all- 
fours,  much  like  other  beasts,  except  when  they  have  to 
fight  for  their  lives,  when  the  Great  Spirit  permits  them 
to  stand  up  and  fight  with  their  fists  like  men. 

That  is  why  the  Indians  about  Mount  Shasta  will 
never  kill  or  interfere  in  any  way  with  a  grizzly. 
Whenever  one  of  their  number  is  killed  by  one  of 
these  kings  of  the  forest,  he  is  burned  on  the  spot, 
and  all  who  pass  that  way  for  years  cast  a  stone 
on  the  place  till  a  great  pile  is  thrown  up. 
Fortunately,  however,  grizzlies  are  not  plentiful 
about  the  mountain. 

In  proof  of  the  truth  of  the  story  that  the  grizzly 
once  walked  and  stood  erect,  and  was  much  like  a 
man,  they  show  that  he  has  scarcely  any  tail,  and 
that  his  arms  are  a  great  deal  shorter  than  his 
legs,  and  that  they  are  more  like  a  man  than  any 
other  animal. 

These  Indians  burn  their  dead.  I  have  looked  into 
this,  and,  for  my  part,  I  should  at  the  last  like  to  be 
disposed  of  as  a  savage. 


OF  THE  CREA  T10N.  277 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  absolute  independence. 
You  must  ask  for  bread  when  you  come  into  the 
world,  and  will  ask  for  water  when  about  to  leave  it. 
Freedom  of  body  is  equally  a  myth,  and  a  dema- 
gogue's text ;  though  freedom  of  mind  is  a  certainty, 
and  within  the  reach  of  all,  grand  duke  or  galley- 
slave,  peasant  or  prince. 

Since  we  are  always  more  or  less  dependent,  a  wise 
and  just  man  will  seek  to  make  the  load  as  light  as 
possible  on  his  fellows.  Socrates  disliked  to  trouble 
even  so  humble  and  coarse  a  person  as  his  jailer. 
Mahomet  mended  his  own  clothes,  and  Confucius 
waited  on  himself  till  too  feeble  to  lift  a  hand. 

If  these  wise  men  were  careful  not  to  take  the  time 
of  others  to  themselves,  when  living  and  capable  of 
doing  or  saying  something  for  the  good  of  their  fellows 
in  return,  how  much  more  careful  we  should  be 
not  to  do  so  when  dead — when  we  can  help  noth- 
ing whatever,  and  nothing  whatever  can  help  or 
harm  us ! 

Holding  this,  I  earnestly  desire  that  my  body 
shall  be  burned,  as  soon  as  the  breath  has  left 
it,  in  the  sheets  in  which  I  die,  without  any  delay, 
ceremony,  or  preparation,  beyond  the  building  of 
a  iire.  There  shall  be  no  tomb  or  inscription  of 
any  kind.  If  a  man  does  any  great  good,  history 
will  take  note  of  it.  If  he  has  true  friends,  he  will 
live    in  their  hearts  while    they  live,    and  that   is 


278  THE  INDIANS'  A  000  TINT 

certainly  as  long  as  he  could  live  on  marble,  in  a  vil- 
lage churchyard,  or  elsewhere. 

The  waste  of  toil  and  money,  which  means 
time,  taken  from  the  poor  and  needy  by  the  strong 
and  wealthy,  in  conducting  funerals  and  celebrating 
doubtful  virtues  by  building  monuments,  is  some- 
thing enormous.  Even  good  taste,  to  say  nothing 
of  this  great  sacrifice  of  time,  should  rise  above  a 
desire  to  ride  to  the  grave  in  a  hundred  empty 
carriages,  and  crop  up  through  the  grass  in  shame- 
less boast  of  all  the  virtues  possible,  chiselled 
there.  Particularly  in  an  age  when  successful  soap- 
boilers, or  packers  of  pork,  rival  the  most  refined 
in  the  elegance  of  tombs  and  flourish  of  epitaphs. 
Another  good  reason  why  I  protest  against  this 
display  about  the  dead,  is  that  so  much  is  done 
about  the  worthless  and  worn-out  body,  that  the 
mind  is  constantly  directed  down  into  the  dismal 
grave,  instead  of  being  lifted  to  the  light  of  heaven 
with  the  immortal  spirit.  One  good  reason  is  enough 
for  anything. 

Besides,  there  is  a  waste  of  land  in  the  present 
custom  that  is  inexcusable.  Remember,  all  waste 
time,  all  waste  labour,  all  waste  land,  is  loss.  That 
loss  must  be  borne  by  some  one,  some  portion  of  the 
country ;  and  it  is  not  the  wealthy  or  refined  who 
must  bear  it.  True,  they  may  directly  take  the 
money  from  their  purses,  but  indirectly  all  such  losses 


OF  THE  CREATION.  279 

are  borne  by  the  poor.  Sift  it  down  and  you  will  see. 
Death  to  the  poor  man  is  a  terrible  thing,  made 
tenfold  terrible  by  the  present  custom  of  interment. 
He  sees  that  even  in  death  there  is  a  distinction 
between  him  and  his  master,  and  that  he  is  still 
despised.  The  rich  man  goes  to  his  marble  vault, 
which  is  to  the  poor  a  palace,  in  pomp  and  display  of 
carriages,  attended  by  the  dignitaries  of  the  Church, 
while  he,  the  poor  and  despised,  is  quietly  carted 
away  to  a  little  corner  set  apart  for  the  poor.  Of 
course,  a  strong  and  philosophic  mind  would  laugh 
at  this,  but  to  the  poor  it  is  a  fearful  contrast. 
"  Death  is  in  the  world,"  and  throws  a  shadow  on 
the  poor  that  may,  in  part,  be  lifted  when  all  are 
interred  alike — burned  in  one  common  fire. 

These  Indians,  as  I  have  before  intimated,  never 
question  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  Their  fervid 
natures  and  vivid  imaginations  make  the  spirit  world 
beautiful  beyond  description,  but  it  is  an  Indian's 
picture,  not  a  Christian's  or  Mahomedan's.  No  city  set 
upon  a  hill,  no  palaces  curtained  in  silk  and  peopled 
by  beautiful  women :  woods,  deep,  dark,  boundless, 
with  parks  of  game  and  running  rivers ;  and  above 
and  beyond  all,  not  a  white  man  there. 

I  have  seen  half-civilized  Indians  who  are  first- 
rate  disbelievers,  but  never  one  who  is  left  to  think 
for  himself.  When  an  Indian  tries  to  understand 
our  religion  he  stumbles,  as  he  does  when  he  tries  to 
understand  us  in  other  things. 


280  TEE  INDIANS'  A CCO  TJNT 

The  marriage  ceremony  of  these  people  is  not  im- 
posing. The  father  gives  a  great  feast,  to  which  all 
are  invited,  but  the  bride  and  bridegroom  do  not 
partake  of  food.  A  new  lodge  is  erected  and  fur- 
nished more  elegant  than  any  other  of  the  village, 
by  the  women,  each  vieing  with  the  other  to  do 
the  best  in  providing  their  simple  articles  of  the 
Indian  household. 

In  the  evening,  while  the  feast  goes  on  and  the 
father's  lodge  is  full  of  guests,  the  women  and 
children  come  to  the  lodge  with  a  great  number  of 
pitch  torches,  and  two  women  enter  and  take  the 
bride  away  between  them:  the  men  all  the  time 
taking  no  heed  of  what  goes  on.  They  take  her  to 
the  lodge,  chanting  as  they  go,  and  making  a  great 
nourish  with  their  torches.  Late  at  night  the  men 
rise  up,  and  the  father  and  mother,  or  those  standing 
in  their  stead,  take  the  groom  between  them  to  the 
lodge,  while  the  same  nourish  of  torches  and  chant 
goes  on  as  before.  They  take  him  into  the  lodge 
and  set  him  on  the  robes  by  the  bride.  This  time 
the  torches  are  not  put  out,  but  are  laid  one  after 
another  in  the  centre  of  the  lodge.  And  this  is  the 
first  fire  of  the  new  pair,  which  must  not  be  allowed 
to  die  out  for  some  time.  In  fact,  as  a  rule,  in  time 
of  peace  Indians  never  let  their  lodge-fires  go  out  so 
long  as  they  remain  in  one  place. 

"When  all  the  torches  are  laid  down  and  the  fire 


TIIK  INDIAN  mtlPAT. 


OF  THE  CREATION.  281 

burns  bright,  they  are  supposed  to  be  married.  The 
ceremony  is  over,  and  the  company  go  away  in  the 
dark. 

Late  in  the  fall,  the  old  chief  made  the  marriage- 
feast,  and  at  that  feast  neither  I  nor  his  daughter 
took  meat 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

THE    LAST   OF    THE    LOST    CABIN. 

HESE  Indians  use  but  few  words.  A  cow- 
ard and  a  liar  is  the  same  with  them ;  they 
have  no  distinct  terms  of  expressing  the  two 
sins.  Sometimes  a  single  eloquent  gesture  means  a 
whole  sentence,  and  expresses  it,  too,  better  than 
could  a  multitude  of  words. 

I  said  to  the  old  chief  one  day, 

"Your  language  is  very  poor;  it  has  so  few 
words." 

"We  have  enough.  It  does  not  take  many  words 
to  tell  the  truth,"  he  answered. 

"  Ah,  but  we  have  a  hundred  words  to  your  one." 

"  Well,  you  need  them." 

There  was  a  stateliness  in  his  manner  when  he 
said  this,  and  a  toss  of  the  head,  that  meant  a  whole 
chapter. 

He  seemed  to  say,  "  Yes,  from  the  number  of  lies 
you  have  told  us,  from  the  long  treaties  that  meant 

nothing  that  you  have   made  with   us;    from   the 

282 


TEE  LAST  OF  THE  LOST  CABIN.         283 

multitude  of  promises  that  you  have  made  and 
broken,  and  made  again,  back  as  far  as  the  traditions 
of  my  people  go,  I  should  say  that  you  needed  even 
a  thousand  words  to  our  one." 

"  Words,  umph  !  Tell  me  how  my  dog  looks  out 
of  his  eyes  V* 

The  old  Indian  arose  as  he  said  this,  and  gathered 
his  blanket  about  his  shoulders.  The  dog  lay  with 
his  nose  on  his  two  paws,  and  his  eyes  raised  to  his 
master's. 

"You  have  not  words  enough  in  all  your  books 
to  picture  a  single  look  from  the  eyes  of  my  dog." 

He  drew  his  blanket  closer  about  him,  turned  away, 
and  the  dog  arose  and  followed  him. 

I  had  a  pocket  Bible  with  me  once,  in  his  camp. 
I  was  young,  enthusiastic,  and  anxious  to  do  a  little 
missionary  business  on  my  own  responsibility.  I 
showed  it  to  the  chief,  and  undertook  to  tell  him 
what  it  was. 

"  It  is  the  promise  of  God  to  man,"  I  said,  "  His 
written  promise  to  us,  that  if  we  do  as  He  has  com- 
manded us  to  do,  we  shall  live  and  be  happy  for 
ever  when  we  die." 

He  took  it  in  his  hand,  upside  down,  and  looked  at 
the  outside  and  inside  very  attentively. 

"  Promises  !     Is  it  a  treaty  ?w 

"Well,  it  is  a  treaty,  perhaps;  at  least,  it  is  a 
promise,  and  He  wrote  it." 


284  TEE  LAST  OF 

"Did  it  take  all  of  this  to  say  that?  I  do  not 
like  long  treaties.  I  do  not  like  any  treaties  on  paper. 
They  are  so  easy  to  break.  The  Indian  does  not 
want  his  God  to  sign  a  paper.  He  is  not  afraid  to 
trust  his  God." 

u  But  the  promises  and  the  resurrection  V  I  urged. 

He  pointed  to  the  new  leaves  on  the  tree,  the 
spears  that  were  bursting  through  the  ground, 
handed  me  the  book  gruffly,  and  said  no  more. 
I  The  Prince  was  gone,  perhaps  to  return  no  more.  I 
was  again  utterly  alone  with  the  Indians.  I  looked 
down  and  out  upon  the  world  below  as  looking 
upon  a  city  from  a  tower,  and  was  not  unhappy. 

I  dwelt  now  altogether  with  the  chief.  His  lodge 
was  my  home ;  his  family  my  companions.  We  rode 
swift  horses,  sailed  on  the  little  mountain  lakes  with 
grass  and  tule  sails,  or  sat  down  under  the  trees  in 
summer,  where  the  wind  came  through  from  the  sea, 
and  drank  in  silently  the  glories  and  calm  delights 
of  life  together.  Nothing  wanted,  nothing  attempted. 
We  were  content,  silent,  and  satisfied.  Was  it  not 
enough  ? 

Despise  a  love  of  nature,  and  even  a  love  of  woman, 
that  is  ranted  and  talked  about  as  if  it  were  a  pain  in 
the  stomach.  A  dog  may  howl  his  passion,  but  the 
most  of  beasts  are  more  decent  in  this  than  the  mass 
of  men. 

"  They  will  find  the  cabin,  yet,"  said  the  chief,  "  if 


THE  LOST  CABIN.  285 

it  is  allowed  to  stand.  Then  they  will  search 
till  they  find  the  mine,  then  a  crowd  of  people  will 
come,  like  grasshoppers  in  the  valley;  my  warriors 
will  be  murdered,  my  forests  cut  down,  my  grass 
will  be  burned,  my  game  driven  off,  and  my  people 
will  starve.  As  their  father  to  whom  they  look  for 
protection  and  support,  I  cannot  allow  it  to  stand." 

"It  shall  be  as  you  say.  Send  some  men  with 
me.  What  care  I  for  the  cabin,  and  what  is  a  mine 
of  gold  to  me  here  i " 

We  went  down,  we  burned  the  cabin  to  the  ground. 
We  did  not  leave  even  a  pine  board,  and  after 
the  embers  had  cooled  and  a  rain  had  settled  the 
ashes,  we  dug  up  the  soil  and  scattered  seeds  of 
reeds  and  grass  on  the  spot.  The  stumps,  chips, 
logs,  everything  was  burned  that  bore  the  mark  of 
the  white  man's  axe. 

A  year  or  two  afterwards  I  passed  there,  and  all 
was  wild  and  overgrown  with  grass,  the  same  as  if 
no  man  had  ever  sat  down  and  rested  there  below  the 
boughs. 

Some  pines  that  stood  too  close  to  the  burning 
cabin  had  yellow  branches  at  one  side,  and  where 
the  bark  had  burned  on  that  side  they  were  gnarled 
and  seared,  and  stood  there  parched  up  and  ugly,  in 
a  circle,  as  if  making  faces  at  some  invisible  object  in 
their  midst. 

That  is  all  there  is  really  of  the  lost  cabin,  which 


286  THE  LAST  OF 

once  created  such  a  commotion  in  northern  California. 

Men  came,  less  numerous  of  course,  each  season, 
year  after  year,  looking  for  the  lost  cabin,  for  it  was 
pleasant  to  come  up  from  the  hot  plains  of  the 
Sacramento,  and  up  from  the  cities  on  the  sea,  and 
camp  here  by  the  cool  streams,  and  travel  under  the 
great  trees  away  from  even  a  hint  of  the  sun ;  but 
they  never  found  so  much  as  a  trace  of  the  lost 
cabin,  and  at  last  gave  it  up  as  a  myth  not  unlike 
Gold  Lake,  Gold  Beach,  and  the  Lost  Dutchman  of 
the  earliest  days  of  the  Pacific  excitements. 

I  did  not  return  to  the  mine  because,  in  the  first 
place,  I  believed  that  it  was  only  a  treacherous 
pocket  that  had  nothing  more  to  give  but  promises. 
But  beyond  all  that,  I  was  trying  to  rise  to  the  dignity 
of  some  little  virtue,  after  the  Prince  had  shown  so 
much,  and  these  Indians  had  set  such  good  examples. 
What  should  I  do  with  the  gold,  even  if  I  found  a 
mountain  of  it?  My  wants  were  few  and  simple. 
Except  to  make  journeys,  I  did  not  need  a  dollar. 
I  had  all  that  I  could  use ;  what  use,  then,  had  I 
for  more  % 

I  could  only  point  it  out  to  my  countrymen,  and 
that  meant  toil  and  strife,  privation  and  endurance 
for  them;  for  the  Indians  it  meant  annihilation. 
With  the  constant  sense  before  me  that  it  was  and  is 
exhausted,  I  have  been  enabled  to  let  the  leaves  fall 
there,  and  the  moss  to  grow  in  the  mine  for  many, 


TEE  LOST  CABIN.  287 

many  years.  Sometimes  we  have  almost  to  lie  to 
ourselves  to  get  strength  to  do  a  simple  act  of 
justice ;  nay,  to  even  not  do  a  deliberate  wrong. 

What,  after  all,  if  my  grand,  old,  noble  pyramid  of 
the  north,  white  as  faith,  sphinx-like  looking  out  over 
the  desert  plains  of  the  east,  the  seas  of  the  west, 
the  sable  woods  that  environ  it,  should  be  built  on  a 
solid  base  of  gold ! 

When  the  Modoc  has  led  his  last  warrior  to  battle 
up  yonder  in  his  rocky  fortress,  fired  his  last  shot,  and 
the  grass  is  growing  in  the  last  war-path  of  those 
people,  then,  and  not  till  then,  I  may  go  up  where  the 
solemn  trees  with  their  dead  limbs  stand  around, 
making  faces  at  something  in  the  centre,  pitch  a  tent 
there,  and  go  down  in  the  canon  with  men,  and  picks 
and  shovels,  and  bars  of  steel  and  iron. 

At  the  same  time,  I  am  trying  to  bring  myself  up 
to  the  conviction  of  the  truth,  that  a  great  deal  of 
gold  is  rather  to  be  avoided  than  sought  after.  Every 
day  I  look  around,  and  see  how  many  thousands 
there  are  who  have  gold  and  nothing  else  ;  I  see  the 
sin  there  is  in  it  and  the  getting  of  it.  The  ten 
thousand  temptations  it  brings  a  man,  tied  up  in  the 
bags  along  with  it,  and  let  out  when  it  is  let  out, 
inseparable  from  it.  I  see  that  it  is  sinking  my  coun- 
try, morally,  every  day ;  and  yet  with  this  steady  drift 
of  all  things  toward  the  one  goal,  this  sailing  of  every 
ship  in  life  for  the  one  Golden  Gate,  barren  as  it  is, 


288  TEE  LAST  OF 

forgetting  the  green  isles  of  palm  and  the  warm 
winds  there  ;  I  say,  with  all  this,  it  is  hard  to  stand  up 
tall  and  despise  it. 

Save  money  for  the  children  ?  Bosh !  Are  you 
afraid  to  put  them  down  on  the  track  of  life,  to  take 
a  fair  and  even  start  with  the  rest?  Do  you  want 
to  start  them  ahead  of  nine-tenths  of  those  who  have 
to  run  the  race  of  life  ?  Do  you  think  they  have  not 
brains  or  backbone  enough  to  make  their  way  with 
the  rest  ?  How  many  of  all  the  millions  can  start 
with  a  fortune  ? 

No.  Put  them  out  on  the  track,  well  trained  and 
strong,  and  let  them  run  the  race  fairly  and  squarely 
with  the  humblest  there,  and  then  if  they  win  they 
win  like  men. 

Must  have  money  to  appear  well !  Fiddle- 
sticks !  To  buy  a  new  coat  and  furniture,  so  as 
to  receive  your  friends.  My  dear  sir,  friends  never 
yet  came  to  see  a  man's  new  coat  or  his  nice 
house ;  never !  If  your  friends  want  to  see  new 
coats,  they  can  go  to  the  clothing  stores  and  see  a 
thousand  every  day  for  nothing. 

No,  we  do  not  hoard  up  money  altogether  for  the 
children,  or  for  friends  to  look  upon,  but  we  heap  it 
up  because  we  are  selfish  cowards !  Because  we  have 
not  nerve  enough  to  stand  on  our  own  merit,  or  hav- 
ing so  little  merit  and  so  much  money,  we  prefer  to 
trust  to  the  latter  for  a  place  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 


THE  LOST  CABIN.  289 

And  then  there  is  a  low,  contemptible  fear  that  we 
will  come  to  want,  and  so  toil  and  toil  and  build  a  bar- 
ricade of  gold  about  us,  and  die  at  last  in  fear, 
pinched  to  death  between  twenty-dollar  pieces,  that 
the  starved  and  hungry  soul  has  crept  between,  with 
the  last  bit  of  young,  strong  manhood  that  we  were 
born  with  crushed  utterly  out  of  us. 


CHAPTER  XXL 


MY   FIRST   BATTLE. 


BOUT  this  time,  tiring  somewhat  of  the 
monotonous  life  of  the  Indian  camp,  and 
wishing  to  see  the  face  of  a  white  man,  I 
descended  to  the  settlements  on  the  Sacramento  River, 
and  fell  in  with  Mountain  Joe,  an  old  mountaineer 
who  had  been  with  Fremont.  He  was  a  German  by 
birth  and  education,  and  remarkable  as  it  may  seem, 
was  certainly  a  very  learned  man.  I  have  heard  him 
repeat,  or  at  least  pretend  to  repeat,  Homer  in  the 
Greek  and  Virgil  in  the  Latin,  by  the  hour,  though 
he  professed  to  despise  the  translations,  and  would 
not  give  me  a  line  of  the  English  version.  Possibly, 
his  Greek  was  not  Greek,  but  I  think  it  was,  for  in 
other  things  in  which  I  could  not  be  utterly  deceived 
I  found  him  wonderfully  well-informed. 

We  together  located  and  took  possession  of  the 
ranch  now  known  as  the  Soda  Springs,  and  to-day  the 
most  famous  summer  resort  in  northern  California. 

We  employed  men,  built  a  house,  ploughed,  planted, 

290 


MY  FIEST  BATTLE.  291 

and  opened  a  trading  post,  all  in  the  short  period  of 
a  few  weeks.  Sometimes  I  would  ride  up  into  the 
mountains  towards  Mount  Shasta,  as  if  hunting  for 
game,  and  spend  a  few  days  with  my  tawny  friends. 

Soon  the  rush  of  people  subsided,  and  but  few 
white  men  were  found  in  the  country.  All  up  and 
down  the  streams  their  temporary  shanties  were  left 
without  a  foot  to  press  the  rank  grass  and  abundant 
weeds. 

One  day  when  our  tame  Indians,  whom  we  had 
employed  on  the  ranch,  were  out  fishing,  and  Moun- 
tain Joe  and  I  had  taken  our  rifles  and  gone  up  the 
Narrow  Valley  to  look  after  the  horses,  a  band  of 
hostile  Indians  living  in  and  about  the  Devil's  Castle, 
some  ten  miles  away  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Sacramento,  came  in  and  plundered  our  camp  of 
all  the  stores  and  portable  articles  they  could  lay 
hands  on. 

This  castle  is  the  most  picturesque  object  in  all  the 
magnificent  scenery  of  northern  California.  It  sits 
on  a  high  mountain,  and  is  formed  of  grey  granite 
blocks  and  spires,  lifting  singly  and  in  groups  thou- 
sands of  feet  from  the  summit  of  the  mountain.  Most 
of  these  are  inaccessible.  Here  the  Indians  locate 
the  abode  of  the  devil.     Hence  its  name. 

I  gathered  up  some  half-tame  Indians  that  could 
be  relied  on,  while  Mountain  Joe  went  down  the 
river  ten  or  twenty  miles  to  the  little  mining  camps, 


292  M  Y  FIRST  BA  TTLE. 

and  collected  a  company  of  whites.  I  Lad  had 
no  connection  with  these  Indians,  and  was  therefore 
plundered  and  treated  as  they  would  have  treated  any 
other  settler.  To  have  borne  with  the  outrage  would 
have  been  to  fall  into  disgrace  with  the  others.  They 
would  have  thought  I  dared  not  resent  it. 

The  small  command  moved  up  Castle  Creek  under 
the  guide  of  friendly  Indians.  Each  man  carried  his 
arms,  blankets,  and  three  days'  rations.  All  were 
on  foot,  as  the  Castle  cannot  be  approached  by  horse- 
men. We  reached  Castle  Lake,  a  sweet,  peaceful 
place,  overhung  by  mountain  cypress  and  sweeping 
cedars.  This  is  a  spot  the  Indians  will  not  visit,  for 
fear  of  the  evil  spirits  which  they  are  certain  inhabit 
the  place.  They  sat  down  in  the  wood  overlooking 
the  lake,  while  we  descended,  drank  of  the  cool,  deep 
water,  and  refreshed  ourselves  for  the  combat,  since 
the  spies  had  just  returned  and  reported  the  hostile 
camp  only  an  hour  distant.  This  was  on  the  26th 
day  of  June,  1855.  The  enemy  was  not  dreaming  of 
our  approach,  and  we  were  in  position,  almost  sur- 
rounding the  camp,  before  we  were  discovered. 

Mountain  Joe  had  distributed  us  behind  the  rocks 
and  trees  in  range  of  and  overlooking  the  camp. 
The  ground  was  all  densely  timbered,  and  covered 
with  a  thick  growth  of  black  stiff  chaparral,  save 
one  spot  of  a  few  acres,  by  the  side  of  which  the 
Indians  were  camped,  at  the  foot  of  a  little  hill. 


M  Y  FIRST  BA  TTLK  293 

This  was  my  first  war-path.  I  was  about  to  take 
part  in  my  first  real  battle.  I  had  been  placed  by 
Mountain  Joe  behind  a  large  pine,  and  alone.  He 
spoke  kindly  as  he  left  me,  and  bade  me  take  care  of 
myself. 

I  put  some  bullets  in  my  mouth,  primed  my  pistols, 
and  made  all  preparation  to  do  my  part.  It  seemed 
like  an  age  before  the  fight  began.  I  could  hear  my 
heart  beat  like  a  little  drum. 

The  Indians  certainly  had  not  the  least  suspicion 
of  danger.  They  were,  it  seemed,  as  much  oft'  their 
guard  as  possible.  They  evidently  thought  their 
camp,  if  not  impregnable,  beyond  our  reach  and  dis- 
covery.    They  owed  the  latter  to  their  own  race. 

At  last  we  were  discerned,  as  some  of  the  most 
daring  and  experienced  were  stealing  closer  and 
closer  to  the  camp,  and  they  sprang  to  their  arms 
with  whoops  and  yells  that  lifted  my  hat  almost  from 
my  head. 

The  yells  were  answered.  Rifles  cracked  around 
the  camp,  and  arrows  came  back  in  showers. 

"  Close  up  !"  shouted  Mountain  Joe,  and  we  left 
cover  and  advanced.  I  think  I  must  have  swallowed 
the  bullets  I  put  in  my  mouth,  for  I  loaded  from  my 
pouch  as  usual,  and  thought  of  them  no  more  as  we 
moved  down  upon  the  yelling  Indians. 

A  little  group  of  us  gathered  behind  some  rocks. 
Then  a  man  came  creeping  to  us  through  the  brush 


294  MY  FIBST  BA  TTLE. 

to  say  that  the  other  side  of  our  company  was  being 
pressed  and  that  we  must  move  on.  Then  another 
came  to  say  that  Mountain  Joe  had  been  struck 
across  the  face  by  an  arrow,  and  his  eyes  were  so 
injured  that  he  could  not  direct  the  fight. 

"  Then  come  on !  "  I  cried ;  "  let  us  push  through 
here  to  the  camp  and  drive  them  into  the  open 
ground."  I  took  the  lead,  the  men  followed,  and 
without  knowing  it,  I  became  a  leader  of  my  fellows. 
We  had  wound  our  blankets  about  our  breasts  and 
bodies  so  as  to  guard  against  arrows,  but  our  heads 
were  unprotected. 

Suddenly  the  arrows  came,  whiz,  whistle,  thud, 
right  in  our  faces. 

I  fell  senseless.  After  a  while  I  felt  men  pulling 
by  my  shoulders.  I  could  hear  and  understand  but 
could  not  see  or  rise.  It  seemed  to  me  they  were 
trying  to  twist  my  neck  from  my  body.  Yet  I 
felt  no  great  pain,  only  a  numbness  and  utter  help- 
lessness. 

"  Help  me  pull  it  out,"  said  one.     They  pulled. 

"  No,  you  must  cut  off  the  point,  and  then  pull  it 
back." 

Then  they  cut  and  pulled,  and  the  blood  spurted 
out  and  rattled  on  the  leaves. 

"  Poor  boy,  he's  done  for." 

I  could  now  see,  but  was  still  helpless.  Half-a- 
dozen   men   stood   around   leaning   on  their    rifles, 


MY  FIRST  BATTLE. 


MY  FIRST  BATTLE.  295 

looking  at  me,  then  around  them,  as  if  for  the  enemy. 
By  the  side  of  me,  with  his  head  in  a  man's  lap,  lay 
a  young  man,  James  Lane,  with  an  arrow-shot  near 
the  eye.     I  believe  he  died  of  his  wound. 

The  fight  was  over.  An  arrow  had  struck  me  in 
the  left  side  of  the  face,  struck  the  jaw-bone,  and 
then  glanced  around  and  came  out  at  the  back  of  the 
neck.  The  wound  certainly  looked  as  if  it  must  be 
mortal,  but  the  jugular  vein  was  not  touched  and  there 
was  hope.  I  was  dizzy  and  sometimes  senseless.  This 
perhaps  was  because  the  wound  was  so  near  the  brain. 
I  constantly  thought  I  was  on  the  mountain  slope 
overlooking  home,  and  kept  telling  the  men  to  go 
and  bring  my  mother.  We  had  no  surgeon,  and  the 
men  tied  up  our  wounds  as  best  they  could  in 
tobacco  saturated  in  saliva. 

That  night  the  Indian  camp  was  plundered  and 
burnt.  The  next  morning,  as  the  provisions  were  out, 
preparations  were  made  to  descend  the  mountain.  I 
here  must  not  forget  the  kind  but  half-savage  atten- 
tion of  these  rough  men.  They  could  do  but  little, 
it  is  true,  but  they  were  untiring  in  attention  and 
sympathy.  They  held  my  head  in  their  laps,  and 
talked  low  and  tenderly  of  early  health  and  my  re- 
turn home.  I  saw  one  man  crying,  the  tears  dropping 
down  into  his  long  grizzly  beard ;  then  I  thought  I 
should  surely  die. 

In  the  morning  one  kind  but  mistaken  old  fellow 


296  M  Y  FIBST  BA  TTLE. 

brought  a  leather  bag,  and  held  it  up  haughtily 
before  my  eyes  in  his  left  hand,  while  he  tapped  it 
gently  with  his  bowie  knife.  The  blood  was  oozing 
through  the  seams  of  the  bag  and  trickling  at  his  feet. 

"Them's  scalps." 

I  grew  sick  at  the  sight. 

The  wounded  were  carried  on  the  backs  of  squaws 
that  had  been  taken  in  the  fight.  A  very  old  and 
wrinkled  woman  carried  me  on  her  back  by  setting 
me  in  a  large  buckskin,  with  one  leg  on  each  side  of 
her  body,  and  then  supporting  the  weight  by  a  broad 
leather  strap  passed  across  her  brow.  This  was  not 
uncomfortable,  all  things  considered.  In  fact,  it  was 
by  far  the  best  thing  that  could  be  done. 

The  first  half  day  the  old  woman  was  "  sulky,"  as 
the  men  called  it ;  possibly  the  wrinkled  old  creature 
could  feel,  and  was  thinking  of  her  dead. 

In  the  afternoon  I  began  to  rally,  and  spoke  to  her 
in  her  own  tongue.  Then  she  talked  and  talked, 
and  mourned,  and  would  not  be  still.  "  You,"  she 
moaned,  "  have  killed  all  my  boys,  and  burnt  up  my 
home." 

I  ventured  to  protest  that  they  had  first  robbed  us. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  you  first  robbed  us.  You  drove 
us  from  the  river.  We  could  not  fish,  we  could  not 
hunt.  We  were  hungry  and  took  your  provisions  to 
eat.  My  boys  did  not  kill  you.  They  could  have 
killed   you   a  hundred   times,   but   they   only  took 


MY  FIRST  BATTLE.  297 

things  to  eat,  when  they  could  not  get  fish  and  things 
on  the  river." 

We  reached  the  Sacramento  in  safety,  and  pitched 
camp  on  the  bank  of  the  river  under  some  sweeping 
cedars  about  a  mile  below  the  site  of  the  present 
hotel  on  the  Lower  Soda  Spring  ranch.  Here  I  lay  a 
long  time,  till  able  to  travel.  Those  beautiful  trees 
were  still  standing  when  I  returned  there  in  1872. 

It  was  necessary  to  go  to  San  Francisco  to  recover 
my  health ;  but  I  tired  of  the  city  soon,  and  longed 
for  the  mountains  and  my  Indian  companions. 

In  the  spring  I  returned,  found  Mountain  Joe 
ploughing  and  planting  at  Soda  Springs,  and  after 
resting  and  making  arrangements  for  the  further  im- 
provement of  the  ranch,  pushed  back  over  the  moun- 
tains to  my  Indians.  All  were  there,  Paquita,  Klamat, 
the  chief,  and  his  daughter,  who,  although  she 
was  much  to  me  I  shall  barely  mention  in  these 
pages.  This  is  a  book  not  of  the  Indian  woman's 
love,  but  of  the  white  man's  hate.  They  had  learned 
all  about  my  battle,  and  I  think  forgave  me  what- 
ever blood  was  on  my  hands  for  the  part  I  had  borne 
in  the  fight,  for  an  Indian  is  a  hero-worshipper  of  the 
very  worst  kind. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MY  MW  REPUBLIC. 

ERE  for  the  first  time  a  plan  which  had 
been  forming  in  my  mind  ever  since  I  first 
fonnd  myself  among  these  people  began  to 
take  definite  shape.  It  was  a  bold  and  ambitions 
enterprise,  and  was  no  less  a  project  than  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  sort  of  Indian  Republic — "  a  wheel 
within  a  wheel,"  with  the  grand  old  cone  Mount 
Shasta  for  the  head  or  centre. 

To  the  south,  reaching  from  far  up  on  Mount 
Shasta  to  far  down  in  the  Sacramento  valley,  lay  the 
lands  of  the  Shastas,  with  almost  every  variety  of 
country  and  climate ;  to  the  south-east  the  Pit  River 
Indians,  with  a  land  rich  with  pastures  and  plains 
teeming  with  game ;  to  the  north-east  lay  the  Modocs, 
with  lakes  and  pasture-lands  enough  to  make  a 
State.  My  plan  was  to  unite  these  three  tribes  in 
a  confederacy  under  the  name  of  the  'United  Tribes, 
and  by  making  a  claim  and  showing  a  bold  front  to 
the  Government,  secure  by  treaty  all  the  lands  near 

298 


MY  NEW  REPUBLIC.  299 

the  mountain,  even  if  we  had  to  surrender  all  the 
other  lands  in  doing  so. 

It  might  have  been  called  a  kind  of  Indian  re- 
servation, but  it  was  to  be  a  reservation  in  its  fullest 
and  most  original  sense,  such  as  those  first  allotted  to 
the  Indians.  Definite  lines  were  to  be  drawn,  and 
these  lines  were  to  be  kept  sacred.  No  white  man 
was  to  come  there  without  permission.  The  Indians 
were  to  remain  on  the  land  of  their  fathers.  They 
were  to  receive  no  pay,  no  perquisites  or  assistance 
whatever  from  the  Government.  They  were  simply 
to  be  let  alone  in  their  possessions,  with  their  rites, 
customs,  religion,  and  all,  unmolested.  They  were 
to  adopt  civilization  by  degrees  and  as  they  saw  fit, 
and  such  parts  of  it  as  they  chose  to  adopt.  They 
were  to  send  a  representative  to  the  State  and  the 
national  capitals  if  they  chose,  and  so  on  through 
a  Ions:  catalogue  of  details  that  would  have  left  them 
in  possession  of  that  liberty  which  is  as  dear  to  the 
Indian  as  to  any  being  on  earth. 

Filled  with  plans  for  my  little  Republic  I  now 
went  among  the  Modocs,  whom  I  had  always  half 
feared  since  they  had  killed  and  plundered  the  old 
trader,  and  boldly  laid  the  case  before  them,  They 
were  very  enthusiastic,  and  some  of  the  old  council- 
men  named  me  chief;  yet  I  never  had  any  authority 
to  speak  of  till  too  late  to  use  it  to  advantage. 

I  drew  maps  and  wrote  out  my  plans,  and  sent  them 


300  MY  NE  W  BEP  TJBLIC. 

to  the  commanding  officer  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  the 
Governor  of  the  State,  and  the  President  of  the 
Republic.  Full  of  enthusiasm  and  splendid  plans 
were  the  letters  I  sent,  and  no  doubt  full  of  bad' 
spelling  and  worse  grammar ;  but  they  were  honest, 
sincere,  and  well  meant,  and  deserved  something 
better  than  the  contemptuous  silence  they  received. 

I  thought  of  this  thing  day  after  day,  and  it  came 
upon  me  at  last  like  a  great  sunrise,  full  and 
complete.  The  Indians  entered  into  it  with  all  their 
hearts.  Their  great  desire  was  to  have  a  dividing 
line — a  mark  that  would  say,  Thus  far  will  we  come 
and  no  farther.  They  did  not  seem  to  care  about 
details  or  particulars  where  the  line  would  be  drawn, 
only  that  it  should  be  drawn,  and  leave  them  secure 
in  bounds  which  they  could  call  their  own.  They 
would  submit  to  almost  anything  for  this. 

Remove  they  would  not ;  but  they  were  tired  of  a 
perpetual  state  of  half- war,  half-peace,  that  brought 
only  a  steady  loss  of  life  and  of  land,  without  any 
lookout  ahead  for  the  better,  and  would  enter  into 
almost  any  terms  that  promised  to  let  them  and  theirs 
permanently  and  securely  alone.  I  may  say  here 
in  a  kind  of  parenthesis  that  the  only  way  an  Indian 
can  get  a  hearing  is  to  go  to  war,  and  thus  call  the 
attention  of  the  Government  to  the  fact  of  his 
existence. 

How  magnificent   and  splendid   seemed  my  plan  I 


M  Y  NEW  REP  UBLIC.  301 

Imagination  had  no  limit.  Here  would  be  a  national 
park,  a  place,  one  place  in  all  the  world,  where  men 
lived  in  a  state  of  nature,  and  when  all  the  other 
tribes  had  passed  away  or  melted  into  the  civiliza- 
tion and  life  of  the  white  man,  here  would  be  a 
people  untouched,  unchanged,  to  instruct  and  interest 
the  traveller,  the  moralist,  all  men. 

When  the  world  is  done  gathering  gold,  I  said,  men 
will  come  to  these  forests  to  look  at  nature,  and  be 
thankful  for  the  wisdom  and  foresight  of  the  age  that 
preserved  this  vestige  of  an  all  but  extinct  race. 
There  was  a  grandeur  in  the  thought,  a  sort  of 
sublimity,  that  I  shall  never  feel  again.  A  fervid 
nature,  a  vivid  imagination,  and,  above  all,  the 
matchless  and  magnificent  scenery,  the  strangely  silent 
people,  the  half -pathetic  stillness  of  the  forests,  all 
conspired  to  lift  me  up  into  an  atmosphere  where  the 
soul  laughs  at  doubt  and  never  dreams  of  failure.  A 
ship-wrecked  race,  I  said,  shall  here  take  rest.  To 
the  east  and  west,  to  the  north  and  south,  the  busy 
commercial  world  may  swell  and  throb  and  beat  and 
battle  like  a  sea;  but  on  this  island,  around  this 
mountain,  with  their  backs  to  this  bulwark,  they 
shall  look  untroubled  on  it  all.  Here  they  shall 
live  as  their  fathers  lived  before  the  newer  pyramids 
cast  their  little  shadows,  or  camels  kneeled  in  the 
dried-up  seas. 

I  went  to  Yreka,  the  nearest  convenient  post-office, 


302  M  T  NEW  BEP  UBL1C. 

nearly  one  hundred  miles  away,  and  waited  for  my 
answers  in  vain.  I  wrote  again,  but  with  the  same 
result. 

I  saw  that  I  must  learn  something  more  of  the 
white  man,  mix  with  him,  observe  his  manners  and 
disposition  more  closely  than  I  had  done.  I  said  to 
myself,  I  have  been  a  dreamer.  I  am  now  awake, 
and  I  have  a  purpose. 

That  purpose  became  my  hobby.  I  rode  that 
hobby  to  the  bitter  end.  Old  men  have  hobbies 
sometimes  as  well  as  boys.  The  Civil  War  was  born 
of  hobbies.  When  a  hobby  becomes  a  success  it  is 
then  baptised  and  given  another  name. 

I  engaged  in  many  pursuits  through  the  summer, 
always  leaving  a  place  or  calling  so  soon  as  it  afforded 
me  no  further  instruction.  On  Dead  wood,  a  mining 
stream  with  a  large  and  prosperous  camp,  I  found 
some  old  acquaintances  of  The  Forks,  and  finding  also 
a  library,  a  debating  society,  and  a  temperance 
lodge,  I  joined  all  these,  took  part,  and  on  every  fit 
and  unfit  occasion  began  to  urge  my  hobby.  Yet  I 
never  admitted  that  I  had  cast  my  fortune  with  the 
Indians  or  even  had  been  among  them.  This  would 
have  been  disgrace  and  defeat  at  once.  I  engaged 
as  a  common  laborer,  shovelling  dirt  and  running 
a  wheelbarrow  with  broad-backed  Irishmen  and 
tough  Missourians,  in  order  to  get  acquainted  with 
the  men   who   clustered    about   the   library.      The 


MY  NEW  REP  UBLIC.  303 

books — 300  in  number — were  kept  at  the  cabins  of 
the  men  who  employed  me.  Of  course  I  could  not 
stand  the  work  long,  but  I  accomplished  my  object. 
I  got  acquainted  with  the  most  intelligent  men  of 
the  camp,  and  so  enlarged  my  life. 

I  remained  a  month.  I  read  Byron  and  Plutarch's 
Lives  over  and  over  again.  They  were  the  only 
books  I  cared  at  all  to  read,  and  they  were  the  very 
books  that  I  in  that  state  of  mind  should  not  have 
read.  I  pictured  myself  the  hero  of  all  I  read. 
Instead  of  being  awakened,  I  was  only  dreaming  a 
greater  dream. 

I  returned  to  Soda  Springs  ranch,  and  Mountain 
Joe  went  with  me  to  the  Indian  camp,  but  I  never 
took  him  into  my  confidence.  Not  but  he  was  a 
brave,  true  man,  but  that  he  was  unfortunately 
sometimes  given  to  getting  drunk,  and  besides  that, 
he  was  the  last  man  to  sympathize  with  the  Indian 
or  any  plan  that  looked  to  his  improvement.  I  laid 
in  my  supplies,  and  proposed  to  spend  my  winter 
with  the  Indians.  I  loved  Mountain  Joe  fondly ;  and 
in  spite  of  his  prophecies  that  he  would  see  me  no 
more,  returned  to  the  camp  on  the  Upper  McCloud. 
As  feed  for  stock  was  scarce  on  the  ranch,  I  with 
my  Indians  took  the  horses  on  the  McCloud  to  winter. 
My  camp  was  about  seventy-five  miles  from  the 
Pit  River  settlements,  and  about  thirty  miles  from 
Soda  Springs.  These  were  the  nearest  white  habita- 
tions.    I  was  partly  between  the  two. 


304  MY  NEW  EEP  VBL1C. 

About  mid-winter  the  chief  led  his  men  up  to- 
wards the  higher  spurs  of  the  mountain  for  a  great 
hunt.  After  some  days  on  the  head- waters  of  the 
McCloud,  at  some  hot  springs  in  the  heart  of  a  deep 
forest  and  dense  undergrowth,  we  came  upon  an 
immense  herd  of  elk.  The  snow  was  from  five  to 
ten  feet  deep.  We  had  snow  shoes,  and  as  the  elk 
were  helpless,  after  driving  them  from  the  thin 
snow  and  trails  about  the  springs  into  the  deep 
snow,  the  Indians  shot  them  down  as  they  wallowed 
along,  by  hundreds. 

Camp  was  now  removed  to  this  place,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  who  preferred  to  remain  below, 
and  feasting  and  dancing  became  the  order  of  the 
winter. 

Soon  Klamat  and  a  few  other  young  and  spirited 
Indians  said  they  were  going  to  visit  some  other 
camp  that  lay  a  day  or  two  to  the  east,  and  dis- 
appeared. 

In  about  a  month  they  returned.  After  the  usual 
Indian  silence,  they  told  a  tale  which  literally  froze 
my  blood.     It  made  me  ill. 

The  Indians  had  got  into  difficulty  with  the  white 
men  of  Pit  Kiver  valley  about  their  women,  and 
killed  all  but  two  of  the  settlers.  These  two  they 
said  had  escaped  to  the  woods,  and  were  trying  to 
get  back  through  the  snow  to  Yreka.  The  number 
of  the  settlers  I  do  not  remember,  but  they  did  not 
exceed  twenty,  and  perhaps  not  more  than  ten. 


MY  NEW  REP  UBLIC.  305 

There  were  no  women  or  children  in  the  valley  at 
the  time  of  the  massacre ;  only  the  men  in  charge  of 
great  herds  of  stock 

This  meant  a  great  deal  to  me.  I  began  to  reflect 
on  what  it  would  lead  to.  The  affair,  no  matter  who 
was  to  blame,  would  be  called  another  dreadful 
massacre  by  the  bloodthirsty  savages ;  of  this  I  was 
certain.  Possibly  it  was  a  massacre,  but  the  Indian 
account  of  it  shows  them  to  have  been  as  perfectly 
justified  as  ever  one  human  being  can  be  for  taking 
the  life  of  another. 

I  have  been  from  that  day  to  this  charged  with 
having  led  the  Indians  in  this  massacre.  I  deny 
nothing ;  I  simply  tell  what  I  know  and  all  I  know  of 
this  matter  as  briefly  as  possible,  and  let  it  pass. 

The  massacre,  as  it  is  called,  occurred  in  the  first 
month  of  the  year  1867.  The  whites  were  besieged 
by  the  Indians  in  a  strong  wooden  house,  a  perfect 
fortress.  The  Indians  asked  them  to  surrender, 
offering  to  conduct  them  safely  to  the  settlements. 
They  felt  secure,  and  laughed  at  the  proposition.  A 
long  fight  followed,  in  which  many  Indians  fell.  At 
last  the  Indians  carried  great  heaps  of  hay  to  the 
walls,  fired  them,  and  the  whites  perished. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

DOWN   IX   THE   VALLEY    OF   DEATH. 

SPOKE  to  the  chief  about  the  affair ;  I  told 
him  it  meant  a  bloody  war ;  that  the  Indians 
of  the  valleys,  wherever  the  Americans  conld 
reach,  would  be  overthrown,  and  asked  him  what  he 
would  do. 

He  thought  over  the  matter  a  day  or  two,  then 
said  he  should  keep  his  men  together  and  out  of  the 
way  as  far  as  he  could,  and  then,  if  attacked,  would 
defend  himself ;  that  the  Pit  River  Indians  were  not 
his  Indians,  that  they  had  a  chief  of  their  own,  and 
lived  quite  another  life  from  his,  and  he  could  not  be 
held  responsible  for  their  acts. 

He   urged,  however,   that   they   were   right,   said 

they  had  his  sympathy,  and  that  to  assist  them  in 

the  coming  war  would  be  the  best  and  speediest  way 

to  establish  the  union  of  the  three  tribes,  and  get  a 

recognition  of  rights  from  the  Government  of  the 

United  States. 

I  knew  very  well,  however,  that  it  would  not  do 

306 


DO  WN  IN  TEE  VALLEY  OF  DEATH.     307 

to  go  to  war  in  a  bad  cause  or  what  would  be  called 
a  bad  cause ;  that  that  would  ruin  all  concerned,  and 
establish  nothing. 

From  the  first  I  had  tried  to  get  Klamat  to  go 
with  me  to  the  scene  of  the  massacre.  He  refused, 
and  the  Indians  put  up  their  hands  in  horror  at  the 
recklessness  of  the  proposition. 

Somehow,  the  picture  of  these  two  men  struggling 
through  the  snow,  pursued,  wretched,  lost,  half- 
famished,  kept  constantly  before  me.  If  they  were 
making  way  to  Yreka,  I  could  cut  across  the  spurs 
of  Mount  Shasta  and  intercept  them.  My  camp  was 
not  thirty  miles  from  the  road  leading  to  that  city 
from  Pit  River.  I  resolved  to  go  at  least  that  far 
and  see  what  could  be  discovered,  and  what  I  could 
do  to  assist  them. 

With  this  view  I  got  two  young  strong  Indians, 
and  set  out  early  on  the  hard  snow,  carrying  snow- 
shoes  and  a  little  bag  of  ground  elk  meat  and  grass 
seed. 

Before  night,  I  came  upon  and  followed  the  road 
by  the  high  blaze  on  the  pines  for  some  distance, 
and  toward  the  valley,  but  found  no  trace  of  the 
fugitives.  I  camped  under  a  broad,  low-boughed  fir 
tree  that  stood  almost  a  perfect  pyramid  of  snow, 
over  a  dry  grassy  plat  down  about  the  trunk  and 
roots  of  the  tree. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  went  on  a  few  paces  to 


308  DOWN  IN  TEE 

the  summit  overlooking  the  valley.  The  sun  was 
rising  in  our  faces.  The  air  was  so  rich  and  pure 
we  seemed  to  feed  upon  it.  The  valley  seemed  to 
lay  almost  at  our  feet.  This  mountain  air,  in  fact, 
all  the  atmosphere  of  the  Far  West,  is  delusive  to  a 
stranger,  but  this  of  the  Sierras,  and  at  that  particu- 
lar time,  was  peculiarly  so.  A  tall,  slanting,  swaying 
column  seemed  to  rise  before  us  not  five  miles  away. 
It  was  the  smoke  of  an  Indian  camp,  at  least  twenty- 
five  miles  distant. 

We  were  full  of  fire,  youth,  and  strength.  We 
had  been  resting  long  in  camp,  and  now  wanted  to 
throw  oif  our  lethargy. 

"  Let  us  go  down,"  I  said  in  a  spirit  of  banter,  yet 
really  wishing  to  descend. 

"  Go  !"  cried  the  Indians  in  chorus.  "  To-ka-do ; 
we  will  follow."  And  I  slid  down  the  mountain 
on  my  snow-shoes,  laughing  like  a  school-boy  at  play. 

This  was  a  turning-point  in  my  life,  taken  without 
the  least  reflection  or  one  moment's  thought.  Energy 
makes  leaders,  but  it  takes  more  than  energy  to  make 
a  successful  leader. 

Before  night  we  sat  down  on  a  little  hill  overlook- 
ing the  camp  not  a  mile  away. 

I  had  no  plan.  It  was  while  sitting  here  waiting 
for  darkness  before  venturing  further,  that  one  of 
the  Indians  asked  me  what  I  proposed  to  do.  I  did 
not  know  myself,  but  told  him  we  would  take  a  look 


Y ALLEY  OF  DEATH.  309 

at  the  camp  so  soon  as  it  got  dark  and  then  go 
home. 

We  looked  at  the  camp,  more  than  a  thousand 
strong.  Indians  keep  no  guard  at  night.  They 
surrender  themselves  to  the  great,  sad  mother, 
night,  with  a  superstitious  trust,  and  refuse  to  take 
precaution  till  dawn. 

I  knew  every  foot  of  the  ground.  It  was  five 
miles  to  the  Ferry,  where  had  been  the  strongest  house 
of  the  whites;  and  where  they  had  taken  shelter 
when  the  Indians  had  rose  against  them.  I  wished 
to  go  there  and  see  first  how  things  stood,  now  that  I 
was  so  near.  We  pushed  down  the  valley  and  left 
the  Indians  singing  and  dancing  over  their  achieve- 
ments. They  did  not  dream  that  there  was  a  white 
man  within  a  hundred  miles. 

The  houses  were  all  burned.  The  ferry-boat  was 
still  chained  to  the  bank,  and  in  the  boat  lay  a  naked 
corpse  with  the  head  severed  from  the  body. 

We  sat  down  in  the  boat,  ate  the  last  of  our  scant 
provisions  and  prepared  to  return.  The  excitement 
now  being  over,  with  the  seventy-five  miles  of 
wilderness  before  us,  I  began  to  feel  uneasy.  We 
were  in  the  "  Valley  of  Death."  Desolation  was 
around  us.  Half-burnt  houses  were  passed  here  and 
there,  and  now  and  then  in  the  grey  dawn  we  could 
see  the  smoke  of  Indian  camps  in  the  edge  of  the 
wood  and  along  the  river-banks. 

We  made  a  detour  to  avoid  the  large  camp  at  the 


310  DOWN  IN  TEE 

entrance  of  the  valley  and  toiled  up  the  mountain  in 
silence. 

Before  noon  we  struck  the  route  by  which  we 
entered,  and  on  the  edge  of  Bear  Valley  came  sud- 
denly upon  two  squaws  who  were  on  their  way  there 
to  dig  klara.  This  is  the  root  of  the  mountain  lily. 
It  is  a  large  white  substance  like  a  potato,  with 
grains  gf owing  on  the  outside  like  Indian  corn.  The 
squaws  dropped  their  baskets  and  hid  their  faces  in 
their  hands  in  sign  of  submission.  They  had  not 
discovered  us  until  too  close  to  attempt  escape.  We 
greedily  devoured  their  few  roots,  took  them  with  us, 
and  hastened  on. 

In  the  afternoon,  when  nearing  the  summit,  one  of 
the  squaws  dashed  down  the  hillside  through  the 
thicket.  We  called  to  her  to  stop  but  she  only  ran 
the  faster.  We  then  told  the  other  she  could  go 
also,  and  she  bounded  away  like  a  deer.  Our  only 
object  in  keeping  them  with  us  was  to  prevent  them 
giving  the  alarm,  but  since  one  could  do  this  as  well 
as  two  we  had  no  occasion  to  keep  the  other. 

We  knew  that  under  the  excitement  of  fear  they 
would  soon  reach  camp,  and,  perhaps,  induce  pursuit, 
and  therefore  we  redoubled  our  pace. 

We  travelled  all  night,  but  about  dawn  I  broke 
down  utterly  and  could  stagger  on  not  a  step 
further. 

The  Indians  tore  off  a  dead  cedar  bark,  formed  it 
into   a   sort  of  canoe,    and   fastening  withes  to  one 


VALLEY  OF  DEATH.  311 

end,  placed  me  in  it  and  drew  me  over  the  snow. 

I  ought  to  have  recovered  some  strength  but  did 
not.  I  could  not  stand  alone.  After  dark  they 
built  up  a  big  fire  in  a  close  thicket,  left  me  alone, 
and  pushed  on  to  camp. 

Early  in  the  morning  other  Indians  came  with 
provisions,  and  now  being  able  to  walk  after  a  break- 
fast on  elk  and  deer  meat,  we  soon  reached  camp. 

After  but  one  day  and  two  nights'  rest  I  proceeded 
over  the  mountain  on  snow  shoes  to  Soda  Springs,  and 
gave  the  details,  so  far  as  I  knew,  of  the  destruction 
of  the  settlement  in  Pit  River  valley. 

Mountain  Joe  advised  that  I  should  go  at  once  to 
Yreka  with  the  news.  I  mounted  a  strong  nimble 
mule  and  set  out. 

On  my  way  I  met  Sam  Lockhart.  This  Lockhart 
was  a  leading  man  of  the  country  and  largely  in- 
terested in  Pit  River  valley,  where  he  had  a  great 
deal  of  stock,  which  was  in  charge  of  his  brother, 
who  fell  in  the  massacre.  My  sad  news  was  not 
news  to  Lockhart.  The  two  men  before  spoken  of 
had  made  their  way  through  the  mountain  to  Yreka, 
and  the  whole  country  was  already  in  arms. 

Lockhart  was  on  his  way  to  Red  Bluffs,  two 
hundred  miles  distant,  for  the  purpose  of  raising  a 
company  there,  to  attack  the  Indians  from  that  side, 
while  the  company  already  started  from  Yreka  should 
descend  upon  them  from  the  other.  There  was  but 
little  military  force  in  the  country,  but  the  miners 


312     DO  WN  IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  DEATH. 

and  men  generally  in  those  days  were  prompt  and 
ready  to  become  soldiers  at  almost  a  minute's  notice. 
But  in  desperate  cases,  as  in  this,  men  not  directly 
interested  were  prepared  to  arm  and  equip  a  substitute 
such  as  they  could  pick  up  about  the  camp.  Lock- 
hart  returned  to  Yreka  with  me. 

We  arrived  in  town  late  in  the  evening  and  I  was 
taken  at  once  to  the  law-office  of  Judge  Roseborough. 
Some  other  lawyers  were  called  in ;  I  was  ordered, 
not  asked,  to  take  a  seat,  and  then  began  a  series  of 
questions  and  cross-questions  from  scowling  and 
savage  men  that  quite  alarmed  me.  But  I  was  un- 
suspicious, and  answered  naturally  and  promptly  all 
that  was  asked. 

I  was  very  weary.  I  could  hardly  keep  awake, 
and  asked  to  be  allowed  to  retire. 

"You  must  not  leave  this  room,"  said  Lockhart 
savagely.  The  truth  came  upon  me  like  a  revela- 
tion. I  was  a  prisoner.  Lockhart,  who  was  half 
drunk,  now  began  to  talk  very  loud,  swore  furi- 
ously, and  wanted  to  murder  me  on  the  spot.  I  hid 
my  face  in  my  hands. 

This,  then,  was  the  reward  for  my  dangerous 
descent  into  the  Valley  of  Death !  This,  then,  was 
to  be  my  compensation  for  all  I  had  dared  and 
endured ! 

I  could  not  answer  another  question.  All  this  is 
painful  to  remember  and  difficult  to  write. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


A   PRISONER. 


OME  of  the  lawyers  went  away.  A  bed 
was   improvised   for  me   on   the  floor,  and  I 

^?  believe  Lockhart,  or  at  least  some  one,  kept 
watch  over  me  during  the  night. 

Judge  Roseborough,  who  is  now  the  chief  Judge 
of  the  northern  district  of  California,  with  his  home 
still  at  Yreka,  has  seen  fit  to  give  to  the  world 
through  some  insinuating  reporter  an  account  of  my 
singular  capture,  imprisonment,  and  this  Star  Chamber 
proceeding,  and  I  believe  claims  some  merit  for  hav- 
ing saved  my  life. 

No  doubt  he  did  save  my  life.  But  somehow,  I 
cannot  feel  any  great  gratitude  toward  him  for  that, 
under  the  circumstances.  At  the  best  he  only  pre- 
vented a  foul  and  cowardly  murder.  He  might  have 
done  much  more.  He  mi^ht  have  said  some  kind 
words,  spoken  some  earnest  advice,  and  given  some 
direction  to  my  unsettled  and  uncertain  life.     I  was 

dying,  morally ;  I  was  starving  to  death  for  counsel 

313 


314:  A  PRISONER. 

and  kind  words  after  what  had  just  been  said  and 
done.  My  heart  was  filling  full  of  bitterness.  But 
perhaps  he  did  not  understand  me. 

Lockhart  was  in  better  temper  the  next  morning. 
He  told  me,  which  no  doubt  was  the  truth,  that  the 
whole  town  and  settlements  were  in  a  blaze  of 
excitement  about  the  massacre,  and  that  I  was 
liable  to  be  shot  by  almost  any  one,  unless  I  by  a 
prudent  course  of  conduct  put  down  the  suspicions 
against  me. 

I  asked  to  be  allowed  to  return  to  Soda  Springs, 
but  he  insisted  that  the  only  safe  thing  for  me  to  do 
was  to  join  the  expedition  already  on  the  way 
against  the  Indians.  I  saw  that  he  was  deter- 
mined I  should  do  this,  and  consented.  He  gave  me 
a  letter — a  very  friendly  letter — to  Joseph  Rogers,  a 
son  of  one  of  the  men  who  had  been  murdered  in 
Pit  River  Valley,  and  then  with  the  expedition.  It 
was  an  open  and  very  complimentary  letter.  But 
other  letters  were  sent  in  the  hands  of  the  two  men 
who  were  sent  with  me. 

These  were  men,  I  was  told,  belonging  to  the 
expedition,  who  had  not  yet  left  town,  and  would 
be  glad  to  show  me  the  way  to  the  camp ;  but  the 
truth  was,  I  was  still  a  prisoner,  and  these  men  were 
my  keepers. 

Very  soon  and  very  early  we  rode  out  of  town 
against  the  rising  sun,  past  the  grave-yard  and  past 
the  gallows  toward  Mount  Shasta. 


A  PRISONER.  315 

My  heart  was  full  of  bitterness  and  revenge.  As 
we  crossed  the  crest  of  the  little  brown  hill  that 
looks  above  the  town,  I  half  turned  in  my  saddle 
and  shook  a  thin  and  nervous  hand  against  its  cold 
and  cruel  inhabitants. 

I  never  entered  that  town  again,  save  as  an 
enemy,  for  more  than  a  decade. 

At  dusk  we  came  upon  the  camp  of  the  expedi- 
tion, noisy  and  boisterous,  half  buried  in  the  snow. 

This  was  the  rudest  set  of  men  I  ever  saw 
gathered  together  for  any  purpose  whatever.  There 
were,  perhaps,  a  dozen  good  men,  as  good  as  there 
were  in  the  land  ;  but  the  rank  and  file  were  made  up 
of  thieves,  bar-room  loafers,  gutter  snipes,  and  men 
of  desperate  character  and  fortunes.  They  growled 
and  grumbled  and  fought  half  the  time. 

We  travelled  by  night,  drawing  the  supplies  on 
slides,  in  order  to  get  the  horses  over  the  snow  when 
it  was  hard  and  frozen.  I  had  told  them  the  story 
of  my  dangerous  descent  into  the  valley,  but  was 
not  believed  by  half  the  company.  They  could  not 
understand  what  upon  earth  a  man  could  mean  by 
such  a  hazard.  They  were  practical  fellows.  They 
put  everything  on  the  popular  conceived  basis  of  the 
age.  They  could  not  see  what  interest  I  had  in 
going  there,  could  not  see  "  what  I  could  make  by 
it."      They   did  not   see   where    I    could    make   it 

"pay." 


316  A  PRISONER. 

One  day  I  woke  up  to  a  strange  sensation.  More 
than  once  I  had  heard  some  talk  about  "  a  man 
living  with  the  Indians."  This  man  they  talked  of, 
and  of  whom  they  seemed  to  have  but  a  rough  idea, 
was  to  be  captured,  skinned  alive,  roasted,  scalped, 
and,  in  fact,  to  undergo  all  the  refined  tortures 
known  to  the  border. 

It  crossed  my  mind  suddenly,  like  a  flash,  that  I 
was  that  man. 

I  saw  at  the  time,  however,  that  there  was  not 
the  slightest  suspicion  that  the  pale,  slim  boy  before 
them  was  "  the  man  who  lived  with  the  Indians." 

Through  half -friendly  savages  and  other  means 
it  had  gone  abroad  among  the  settlers  that  there 
was  a  white  man  living  with  the  Indians.  Nothing 
could  induce  these  men  to  believe  that  a  man  could 
live  with  the  Indians  for  any  other  purpose  than  to 
take  part  with  them  in  their  wars,  and  to  plunder  the 
whites.  And,  as  a  rule,  so  far  as  I  know,  those  who 
have  cast  their  fortunes  in  with  the  Indians  have 
been  outlaws,  men  who  could  not  live  longer  with 
their  kind. 

But  these  fellows  expected  to  find  the  renegade  a 
strong-limbed,  bearded,  desperate  man.  Perhaps 
had  any  one  told  them  there  and  then  that  I  was 
that  man  they  would  have  laughed  in  his  face. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  run  away.  Had  it  then 
been  night  I  certainly  should  have  fled.     All  day  I 


A  PRISONER.  317 

watched  my  chance  to  escape,  but  no  chance  came. 
That  night  I  had  no  opportunity  without  great  hazard, 
and  soon  I  began  to  think  better  of  my  projected 
flight  through  the  snow. 

Still  cherishing  the  plan  of  my  little  Republic  or 
independent  Reservation,  I  saw  that  the  Shasta  In- 
dians and  their  friends  must  show  no  sympathy  with 
the  Indians  charged  with  the  massacre,  and  deter- 
mined to  remain  a  little  longer.  Besides,  I  then  liked 
the  excitement  of  war,  and  the  real  men  of  the  com- 
pany were  coming  to  be  my  friends. 

The  captain  of  the  company  was  Gideon  S.  Whitey, 
a  brave,  resolute,  and  honourable  man.  He  after- 
wards married  a  Modoc,  or  Pit  River  squaw,  and 
now  lives  with  her  and  his  large  family  of  children 
at  CarJon  City,  Oregon. 

At  last  we  entered  the  valley.  I  had  travelled 
nearly  live  hundred  miles  in  the  snow  since  leaving 
it ;  forming  a  triangle  in  my  route,  with  Mount 
Shasta  in  the  centre. 

We  soon  were  at  work.  Tragic  and  sanguinary 
scenes  occurred.  I  cannot  enter  into  detail,  it  would 
fill  a  volume. 

It  would  also  fill  many  pages  to  explain  how  by 
degrees  I  came  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  war 
against  my  allies.  Nor  is  there  any  real  excuse  for 
my  conduct.  I  was  wrong,  but  not  wholly  wrong. 
The  surroundings  and  all  the  circumstances  of  the 


318  A  PRISONER. 

time  contributed  to  lead  me  to  take  a  most  active 
part.  I  could  not  then  as  now  rise  above  the  situa- 
tion and  survey  the  whole  scene.  From  a  prisoner 
I  became  a  leader. 

Two  decisive  battles,  or  rather  massacres,  took 
place,  and  perhaps  a  thousand  Indians  perished. 
The  white  men  fought  as  well  out  of  camp  as  they  did 
in  camp,  and  that  is  saying  a  vast  deal  for  their  valour 
indeed. 

However,  I  have  not  that  high  opinion  of  physical 
courage  in  which  it  is  too  generally  held.  My  obser- 
vation proves  to  me  that  the  very  worst  possible 
man  in  the  world  may  also  be  the  very  bravest  man, 
for  a  day  at  least,  that  lives.  I  have  seen  too  much 
to  be  mistaken  in  this.  I  have  seen  a  row  of  men 
standing  up  on  whisky  barrels  under  a  tree,  with 
ropes  around  their  necks,  ready  to  die  at  the  hands 
of  the  unflinching  vigilantes.  They  sang  a  filthy 
song  in  chorus,  howled  and  cursed,  and  then  danced 
a  breakdown  till  the  kegs  were  kicked  from  under 
them.  The  world  sets  too  high  a  mark  on  brute, 
bull-dog  courage. 

After  a  time  Lockhart  came  up  with  his  command 
from  Eed  Bluffs,  and  desiring  the  control  of  the 
whole  force,  a  difficulty  arose  and  Whitey  resigned. 
Another  man  was  chosen  as  nominal  leader,  but  the 
plain  truth  is,  before  we  had  been  in  the  valley  a 
month  I  gave  direction,  and  had  in  fact   charge    of 


A  PRISONER.  319 

the  expedition.  Most  of  these  men  are  dead  now, 
but  scattered  around  somewhere  on  earth  a  few  may- 
be found,  and  they  will  tell  you  that  by  my  energy, 
recklessness,  and  knowledge  of  the  country  and 
Indian  customs,  I,  and  I  only,  made  the  bloody  expe- 
dition a  success.  I  tell  this  in  sorrow.  It  is  a  thou- 
sand times  more  to  my  shame  than  honour,  and  I 
shall  never  cease  to  regret  it. 

Before  leaving  the  valley,  we  surprised  a  camp  by 
stealing  upon  it  at  night  and  lying  in  wait  till 
dawn. 

It  was  a  bloody  affair  for  the  Indians.  Hundreds 
lay  heaped  together  about  the  lodges,  where  they 
fell  by  rifle,  pistol,  and  knife. 

The  white  butchers  scalped  the  dead  every  one. 
One  of  the  ruffians,  known  as  Dutch  Frank,  cut 
off  their  ears  and  strung  them  about  his  horse's 
neck. 

After  drawing  off  the  force  some  of  the  men  lin- 
gered behind  and  shot  and  plundered  the  medicine- 
man, or  priest.  This  priest  is  a  non-combatant,  is 
never  armed,  and  comes  upon  the  field  only  after  the 
fight  to  chant  for  the  dead.  This  one  was  dressed  in 
a  costly  robe  of  sables,  with  a  cap  made  of  skins  of 
the  white  fox.  The  rear  of  our  force,  on  return  to 
camp,  showed  a  man  dressed  in  this  singular  garb 
still  wet  with  blood. 

I  was  glad  when  we  broke  camp  to  return.     We 


320  A  PRISONER. 

had  found  the  valley  without  a  white  man ;  we  left  it 
with  scarcely  an  Indian. 

I  had  had  a  hard  time  of  it.  I  had  endured  insults 
from  the  roughs  of  the  party  rather  than  enter  into 
their  battles,  which  were  generally  fought  out  with 
the  fist.  It  had  in  fact  become  intolerable.  One 
morning  I  gently  cocked  my  pistol,  and  asked  the 
ruffian  who  had  taken  more  than  one  occasion  to 
insult  me  to  step  out.  He  declined  to  do  this,  said 
he  was  not  my  equal  in  the  use  of  arms,  but  that 
some  lucky  day  he  would  get  even.  He  waited  his 
time. 

The  snow  had  disappeared  as  we  returned ;  spring 
was  upon  us,  and  the  journey  was  wild,  picturesque 
and  not  unpleasant.  Nearly  every  man  carried  a 
little  captive  Indian  before  him  on  his  horse ;  most  of 
them  had  Indian  scalps  clinging  to  their  belts,  and, 
dressed  in  furs  and  buckskins,  cut  in  fantastic  shapes 
for  Indian  wear,  they  were  a  strange  and  motley  sight 
to  look  upon  as  they  moved  in  single  file  through 
the  deep,  dark  forests. 

At  the  camp,  after  crossing  the  summit,  with  the 
McCloud  and  my  Indian  camp  to  the  left,  and  Yreka 
in  front,  I  determined  to  leave  the  command  and  seek 
my  tawny  friends  at  the  base  of  Shasta. 

I  fancied  I  had  made  friends,  and  expected  to  have 
honourable  mention  from  those  who  returned  to  the 
city.     I  do  not  know  whether  this  was  the  case  or 


A  PRISONER.  321 

not.  Newspapers  never  reach  an  Indian  camp, 
and  I  never  entered  Yreka  again,  save  as  an  enemy, 
for  more  than  a  decade  thereafter. 

Sam  Lockhart  I  never  saw  again.  He  was  a  brave 
man,  prejudiced  and  reckless,  but,  I  think,  a  good 
man  at  heart.  He  was  killed  in  one  of  the  hand-to- 
hand  battles  over  the  mines  of  Owyhee. 

I  made  a  little  speech  to  the  party,  shook  hands 
with  about  half  of  them,  mounted  my  mule,  and 
rode  away  alone  in  one  direction,  while  they  took 
another. 

After  about  an  hour's  ride  I  heard  some  one 
calling  after  me.  I  turned  round;  they  called 
again,  and  I  rode  back.  On  nearing  a  thicket,  a 
double-barrelled  shot  gun  loaded  with  pistol  balls 
was  fired  across  my  breast. 

The  assassin  nearly  missed  his  mark.  Only  my 
right  arm  was  shot  through  and  disabled  by  a  pistol 
ball,  and  the  mule  was  hit  slightly  in  the  neck.  I 
did  not  see  any  one.  The  mule  wheeled  and  dashed 
through  the  bushes  on  the  back  track  at  a  furious 
speed. 

How  dreadful  I  felt.  To  think  that  this  was  done 
by  one  or  more  of  the  roughs,  who  had  followed  me, 
after  having  been  ni)T  companions  in  war! 

Two  of  these  men  had  sneeringly  cautioned  me  to 
look  out  for  Indians  that  morning  as  I  was  preparing 
to  leave.     They  had  taken  this  course  to  murder  me, 


322  A  PRISONER. 

and  lay  it  on  the  Indians,  as  is  often  done  on  the 
border. 

My  bitterness  knew  no  bounds.  I  conld  not 
return  and  overtake  the  company,  wounded  as  I  was. 
I  rode  on  rapidly,  bleeding  and  faint. 

I  laid  the  matter  on  the  whole  company.  I  some- 
times felt  that  a  good  number  must  have  consented 
to  this,  if  they  had  not  advised  it.  Then  I  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  they  had  determined  from  the 
first  who  I  was,  and  that  I  should  die;  but  after 
finding  how  useful  I  was,  deferred  my  attempted 
execution  till  the  campaign  was  over.  I  long  nursed 
that  thought,  and  am  even  now  not  certain  that  it 
was  incorrect. 

I  reached  the  Now-aw-wa  valley,  now  known,  I 
believe,  by  the  vulgar  name  of  il  Squaw  valley,"  and 
found  it  still  as  a  tomb.  Mountain  Joe  and  I  had 
built  some  cabins  here  and  sheds  for  the  stock  ;  but 
no  stock,  no  Indians  were  in  sight.  At  last,  sick 
from  the  loss  of  blood,  I  found  a  camp  up  on  a  hill- 
side, and  there  dismounted.  The  Indians  were 
silent  and  sullen.  A  woman  came  at  last  to  bring 
me  water,  and  then  saw  my  wound.  That  moved 
their  pity.  I  told  them  the  white  men  had  done  it, 
and  that  made  them  more  than  half  my  friends  again. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A   NEW   DEPASTURE. 

Now  saw  that  I  had  made  a  grave  mistake. 
Indians  are  clannish.  They  may  fight  among 
each  other  like  the  other  people  of  the  earth ; 
but  let  them  be  attacked  by  the  common  enemy,  and 
they  make  common  cause.  I  had  fought  against  their 
brothers,  and  I  was  not  to  be  at  once  forgiven  for  that. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  had  sympathized  with  the  Indians. 
That  also  was  a  mortal  crime,  an  unpardonable 
offence,  in  the  eyes  of  the  whites. 

Those  of  the  Northern  States  who  will  remember 
the  feeling  that  once  was  held  in  the  Southern  States 
against  those  who  sympathized  with  and  assisted  the 
Blacks  will  understand  something  of  the  feeling  in 
the  West  against  those  who  took  part  with  the 
Indians. 

I  had  attempted  to  sit  on  two  seats  at  once,  and 
had  slid  between  the  two.  It  takes  a  big  man  to  sit 
on  two   chairs   at   once.      Any   man   who   has   the 

323 


324:  A  NEW  DEPARTURE. 

capacity  to  do  such  a  thing,  has  also  the  good  sense 
not  to  attempt  it. 

The  Indians  came  slowly  back  into  the  country ; 
but  some  never  came.  They  had  gone  to  the  Pit 
River  war.  The  rank  grass  is  growing  above  their 
ashes  on  the  hills  that  look  upon  that  winding, 
shining  river. 

Klamat  was  never  friendly  after  that.  The  defeat 
of  the  Indians  on  all  occasions,  without  being  able  to 
inflict  any  injury  in  return,  made  him  desperate,  and 
to  see  me  among  their  enemies  did  not  add  to  his 
good  nature.  But  dear  little  Paquita  was  the  same. 
The  same  gentleness  in  her  manner,  the  same  deep 
sadness  in  her  eyes  as  she  tended  me.  I  now  began 
to  think  again.  I  now  thought,  I  surely  am  awake. 
If  I  had  been  awake,  I  should  have  mounted  my  mule 
as  soon  as  able  to  ride,  and  left  the  country  for 
ever. 

No,  I  said,  after  a  long  debate  with  myself,  I  will 
remain.  I  will  reconsider  this  whole  matter.  I  will 
gather  these  Indians  together,  get  arms  and  ammuni- 
tion, and  around  Mount  Shasta  make  my  home,  and, 
if  needs  be,  defend  it  to  the  end.  I  had  done  all  that 
could  be  done,  I  thought,  to  convince  the  whites  and 
make  them  do  justice  to  the  Indians  and  to  under- 
stand me.     I  would  try  no  more. 

I  returned  the  horses  belonging  to  our  ranch  at 
Soda  Springs,  gave  up  without  any  consideration  all 


A  NEW  DEPARTURE.  325 

my  interest  in  the  property  there,  bade  Mountain  Joe 
a  final  farewell,  and  returned,  casting  my  lot  wholly 
and  entirely  with  the  Indians. 

As  I  crossed  the  little  stream  running  through  the 
Now-aw-wa  valley,  before  reaching  the  Indian  camp, 
I  dismounted,  and  on  a  birch  tree  with  my  bowie 
knife  I  cut  this  word,  "  Rubicon." 

I  never  saw  Mountain  Joe  again.  I  never  returned 
to  the  ranch,  for  fear  of  involving  those  there  in  what- 
ever misfortune  might  overtake  my  enterprise.  Dear 
old  Mountain  Joe !  he  had  as  warm  a  heart  in  him  as 
ever  beat  in  man,  and  was  a  kind,  true  friend.  He 
wandered  away  up  to  the  mines  of  Idaho,  and  there 
giving  way  to  his  old  weakness  for  drink,  became  a 
common  hanger-on  about  the  saloons,  and  at  last  sunk 
down  into  a  tippler's  grave,  after  having  faced  death 
in  every  form  in  which  it  confronts  the  man  of  the 
border. 

He  had  had  his  love  affairs  and  adventures  with 
the  brown  children  of  the  Sierras,  and  the  story  was 
current  that  when  he  went  away  a  little  waif  of 
humanity  was  left  fatherless  in  the  forest. 

There  were  most  stringent  regulations  and  laws 
against  selling  the  Indians  of  the  border  any  ammuni- 
tion for  any  purpose  whatever.  After  the  Pit  River 
war  these  were  enforced  with  a  twofold  vigilance. 

This  was  particularly  oppressive  to  the  Indians. 
It  was,  in  fact,  saying  to  them,   "Look  here,  you 


326  A  NEW  DEPARTURE. 

savages !  We  have  superior  means  for  taking  your 
game.  We  will  enter  your  forests  when  we  choose. 
We  will  camp  there  in  summer  by  the  cool  waters, 
and  kill  game  at  our  pleasure  with  our  superior 
arms,  but  you  must  only  use  the  bow,  and  keep 
your  distance  from  our  camps.  We  will  thin  out 
and  frighten  away  your  game,  so  that  it  will  be 
never  so  difficult  for  you  to  subsist ;  but  you  must 
not  attempt  to  compete  with  us  in  the  chase,  even 
in  your  own  forests,  and  in  sight  of  your  own 
wigwams.  You  shall  have  neither  fire-arms,  powder 
nor  shot." 

The  Indians  felt  all  this  bitterly.  Month  by 
month  the  game  grew  more  scarce,  shy,  and  difficult  to 
take ;  the  fish  failed  to  come  up  from  the  sea,  through 
the  winding  waters  of  the  Sacramento,  now  made 
thick  with  mud  by  the  miners,  and  starvation  stared 
them  in  the  face.  They  wanted,  needed  amunition. 
They  needed  it  to  take  game  now,  they  wanted  it  to 
defend  themselves ;  they  were  beginning  to  want  it 
to  go  to  war.  Any  man  who  attempted  to  furnish 
them  with  arms  and  ammunition  was  liable  to  the 
severest  penalties,  and  likely  to  be  shot  down  by  any 
one  who  chose  to  do  so,  with  impunity.  I  resolved 
to  undertake  to  furnish  them  with  arms  and  ammuni- 
tion. 

I  visited  the  Indians  in  Pit  Eiver,  and  found  that 
they  were  determined  to  fight  rather  than  be  taken  to 


A  NEW  DEPARTURE.  327 

the  Reservation,  some  hundreds  of  miles  away.  I 
knew  this  would  involve  them  in  war.  I  knew  that 
this  war  would  drive  the  Shastas  and  the  Modocs 
into  difficulties ;  for  the  whites  make  "but  little  dis- 
tinction between  what  they  call  tribes  of  wild  Indians. 
Every  Indian  camp  taken  acids  to  the  laurels  of  the 
officers  of  the  campaigns;  there  is  no  one  to  tell  to 
the  world,  or  report  to  head-quarters,  the  other  side, 
and  they  have  it  pretty  much  their  own  way  in  the 
invasion,  unless  checked  by  cold  lead,  which  says, 
a  Don't  come  this  way,  this  is  our  ground,  and  we 
purpose  to  defend  it." 

I  saw  but  two  paths  before  me.  One  was  to 
abandon  the  Indians,  after  all  my  plans  and  priva- 
tions ;  the  other  was  to  make  up  such  a  brief  and 
argument  for  our  side  of  the  case,  when  the  threat- 
ened time  came,  as  would  convince  the  authorities 
that  we  were  in  earnest. 

Early  in  the  spring  I  left  the  mountains  with  a 
few  Indians,  partly  warriors,  partly  women,  and, 
partly  children,  and  made  my  way  through  the  woods 
to  the  vicinity  of  Yreka,  and  there  pitched  camp  in 
open  view  of  town. 

The  women  and  children  were  taken  along,  in 
order  to  give  to  our  camp  the  appearance  of  an  ordi- 
nary party  of  vagrant,  half-civilized  Indians,  which  is 
always  found  moping  about  the  border ;  and  the  camp 
was  made  in  sight  of  the  settlements,  because  it  was 
unsafe  to  attempt  concealment. 


828  A  NEW  DEPARTURE 

Any  party  of  Indians  found  hidden  away  in  the 
woods  and  hills  too  near  the  settlements,  no  matter 
how  peaceful  and  well-disposed  are  its  members,  is 
at  once  suspected  of  some  secret  attempt  to  right 
their  wrongs,  and  some  fine  morning  they  wake  up  to 
the  tune  of  a  volley  of  shot  poured  in  from  the  four  ' 
sides  of  their  camp. 

The  plan  was  to  buy  arms  and  ammunition  myself 
in  small  quantities,  as  I  could,  here  and  there,  and 
now  and  then,  without  exciting  suspicion ;  and  also  to 
send  out  the  Indians  to  trade,  and  pick  up  as  best 
they  could  the  desired  supplies,  until  we  had  pro- 
cured as  much  as  we  could  well  carry  in  a  hasty 
return  to  the  mountains. 

The  enterprise  was  hazardous  in  the  extreme.  All 
kind  of  caution  was  necessary.  Ammunition  was 
only  to  be  had  in  small  quantities,  and  arms  only  at 
second-hand.  The  stringent  laws  and  customs  com- 
pelled cunning,  treachery,  and  deceit.  We  used  all 
these.  If  there  was  any  other  course  open,  I  failed, 
and  still  fail,  to  see  it.  We  were  preparing  means 
to  feed  the  half-starved  children  of  the  forest.  We 
were  preparing,  if  necessary,  to  defend  homes  that 
were  older  than  the  ancestral  halls  of  earls  or  kings. 

I  went  over  to  Deadwood,  ten  miles  away,  among 
my  acquaintances,  entered  into  many  kinds  of  em- 
ployment at  different  places,  and  procured  most  of 
the  desired  supplies.  Indians  carried  them  to  the 
camp  by  night. 


A  NE  W  DEPARTURE.  329 

Soon  we  were  ready  to  return.  Horses  were 
needed.  I  always  kept  my  own  horse  and  saddle, 
which  was  either  with  me  or  in  some  wood  near  by ; 
"but  an  Indian  seen  with  a  horse  in  the  valleys  then 
was  liable  to  be  shot  down  the  first  time  he  got  ont 
of  sight  of  a  house,  and  plundered.  He  would 
hazard  about  as  much  by  the  attempt  to  purchase  a 
horse  provided  he  exhibited  the  necessary  purchase 
money. 

The  whites  whenever  in  an  Indian  country  helped 
themselves  to  game  or  anything  else  they  needed 
without  asking  anyone.  These  few  Indians  were 
now  in  a  white  settlement  and  needed  horses.  It  is 
a  poor  rule  that  will  not  work  both  ways.  The  test 
rule  was  to  be  applied. 

Every  year  the  whites  were  entering  the  Indians' 
forests,  and  destroying  more  game  than  the  value  of 
a  whole  herd  of  horses.  They  would  only  use  the 
choicest  and  fattest,  and  carry  away  only  the  saddle 
of  the  venison.  The  Indians  would  deplore  this 
waste.  They  would  often,  compelled  by  hunger, 
follow  these  sportsmen  and  hunters,  and  sullenly  pick 
up  what  was  left. 

They  had  no  horses  now  to  carry  them  and  the 
provisions  and  ammunition  to  the  camp,  nearly  a 
hundred  miles  away. 

They  were  equal  to  the  emergency.  A  time  was 
fixed  for  a  sudden  flight  for  the  mountains  with  our 


330  A  NEW  DEPARTURE. 

supplies.  The  women  and  children  were  to  come 
over  on  the  hills  overlooking  Deadwood,  and  there 
remain  with  one  warrior,  doing  what  they  could  till 
our  return.  The  purpose  was  to  keep  up  this  com- 
munication till  the  Indians  were  fully  ,  armed  and 
equipped. 

Whenever  I  felt  my  courage  or  resolution  relax,  I 
lifted  my  helpless  arm,  recalled  my  life  of  the  last 
year,  and  then  grew  resolute  and  reckless,  even  to 
death. 

Early  one  evening  I  rode  into  camp.  Soon  there 
came  an  Indian  on  a  spirited  and  prancing  horse, 
looking,  in  his  skins  and  long  black  hair,  tossed  about 
by  the  action  of  the  restless  and  plunging  horse,  like 
a  savage  Gaul  in  the  days  of  Csesar.  Then  came 
another,  and  then  another,  till  all  were  ready.  They 
had  taken  their  horses  from  different  parts  of  the 
settlements,  so  as  not  to  excite  any  suspicion  of  con- 
cert of  action ;  stolen  them,  if  you  prefer  the  expres- 
sion, and  under  my  direction. 

Belts,  saddle-bags,  and  catenas  were  loaded  down 
with  arms  and  ammunition.  What  a  glorious  wild 
ride  up  the  Shasta  valley  in  the  moon,  full  against 
the  grand  old  mountain.  Here  the  strange,  half- 
savage  men  about  me  exulted,  threw  back  the  black 
hair  from  their  brows,  and  like  giants  striding  in  the 
air  stretched  their  necks  and  leaned  forward  with 
eyes  that  were  half  aflame. 


A  NEW  DEPARTURE.  331 

We  met  a  party  of  miners  going  in  a  long  string 
to  the  city.  They  stepped  aside  and  stood  so  near 
the  road  as  we  passed  that  I  conld  see  their  teeth  as 
their  months  opened  with  wonder ;  but  they  did  not 
lift  a  hand,  arid  we  were  out  of  sight  in  an  instant. 
Then  we  met  the  stage.  The  driver  set  his  horses 
on  their  haunches,  and  heads  popped  out  of  the  win- 
dows ;  but  we  were  gone  like  a  whirlwind. 

We  reached  the  wood  by  dawn,  climbed  the  moun- 
tain, and  made  our  way  through  rain  and  storm  to  a 
small  camp  on  the  head  of  the  McCloud.  The  ammu- 
nition was  taken  into  a  lodge,  and  the  delighted 
Indians  busied  themselves  examining  the  arms.  I 
cautioned  them  not  to  unpack  the  powder  till  dawn, 
but  was  too  tired  to  do  more,  and  lay  down  in 
another  lodge  by  the  fire  and  fell  asleep. 

A  dull  crash,  a  dreadful  sound  that  has  no  name, 
and  cannot  be  described,  started  me  to  my  feet. 
Bark  and  poles  and  pieces  of  wood  came  raining  on 
our  roof ;  then  there  was  not  a  sound,  not  even  a 
whisper. 

The  poor  Indians,  so  accustomed  to  arrange  and 
prepare  their  arms  and  such  things  by  the  camp  fire, 
had  forgotton  my  caution  perhaps,  for  somehow  the 
powder  had,  while  the  Indians  were  unpacking  and 
arranging  it  in  the  lodge,  ignited,  and  they,  and  all 
the  fruits  of  our  hard  and  reckless  enterprise,  were 
blown  to  nothing. 


332  A  NEW  DEPAETUBE. 

The  Indians  of  the  camp  and  the  three  surviving 
companions  of  my  venture,  were  overcome.  Their  old 
superstition  returned.  They  sat  down  with  their 
backs  to  the  dead  bodies,  hid  their  faces,  and 
waited  till  the  medicine-man  came  from  the  camp  on 
the  lake  below. 

About  midnight  the  women  began  to  wail  for  the 
dead  from  the  hills.  What  a  wail,  and  what  a  night ! 
There  is  no  sound  so  sad,  so  heartbroken  and  pitiful, 
as  this  long  and  sorrowful  lamentation.  Sometimes 
it  is  almost  savage,  it  is  loud,  and  fierce,  and  vehe- 
ment, and  your  heart  sinks,  and  you  sympathize,  and 
you  think  of  your  own  dead,  and  you  lament  with 
them  the  common  lot  of  man.  Then  your  soul 
widens  out,  and  you  begin  to  go  down  with  them  to 
the  shore  of  the  dark  water,  to  stand  there,  to  be 
with  them  and  of  them,  there  in  the  great  myste- 
rious shadow  of  death,  and  to  feel  how  much  we  are 
all  alike,  and  how  little  difference  there  is  in  the 
destinies,  the  sorrows,  and  the  sympathies  of  all  the 
children  of  men. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A   BLOODY   MEETING. 

COULD  not  endure  to  remain  in  camp.  I 
went  down  the  river  and  rested  there,  and 
thought  what  I  now  should  do.  I  began  to 
recover  strength  and  resolution.  I  said,  if  I  was 
right  at  first  I  am  still  right.  I  resolved  to  return ; 
but  no  Indian  would  venture  to  go  back  again,  and 
I  went  alone.  Leaving  my  horse  on  a  ranch  I  entered 
Yreka,  and  took  the  stage  to  Dead  wood.  I  at  once 
went  to  the  Indian  camp,  and  told  them  of  our  loss. 
They,  superstitious  like  the  others,  resolved  to  gather 
up  their  effects  and  supplies  and  return  through  the 
mountains  to  the  McCloud. 

After  seeing  my  old  white  friends  a  few  hours,  I 
was  told  that  Bill  Hirst,  the  famous  man-killer  and 
desperado,  with  whom  I  had  unfortunately  previously 
become  involved,  had  accused  me  of  being  with  the 
Indians,  and  also  taking,  or  having  a  hand  in  taking, 
his  horse. 

I  cleaned  and  prepared  my  pistols  for  this  man. 

At   another  time  I  might   have   been   disposed   to 

333 


334:  A  BLOODY  MEETING. 

avoid  this  fellow.  Now  I  wanted  to  meet  him.  It 
was  not  particularly  for  what  he  had  said  or  done, 
but  he  had  long  been  the  terror  of  the  camp ;  and 
with  something  of  a  spirit  of  chivalry  and  determi- 
nation to  revenge  some  wrongs  of  men  less  ready  to 
fight,  I  quietly  resolved  to  meet  this  man  in  mortal 
combat.  Of  course  my  own  desperate  condition 
contributed  to  make  me  reckless,  and  tenfold  more 
ready  to  resent  an  insult.  If  I  bore  myself  well 
in  the  scene  that  followed  it  was  owing  more  to  that, 
perhaps,  than  to  manly  valour. 

As  the  men  gathered  into  Deadwood  camp,  Hirst 
among  the  others,  I  entered  the  main  saloon  and  called 
the  boys  to  the  bar  in  a  long  red  and  blue-shirted 
line.  We  took  a  drink,  and  then,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  time,  I  drew  a  revolver,  and  declared  myself  chief 
of  the  town.  This  is  the  way  a  man  proceeded  in 
those  days  who  had  a  wrong  to  avenge.  If  his 
enemy  was  in  camp  this  was  his  signal  to  "heel" 
himself  and  come  upon  the  ground.  I  passed  from 
one  saloon  to  another,  making  this  same  declaration 
until  toward  midnight.  While  standing  with  a  knot 
of  miners  at  the  bar  of  Dean's  billiard  saloon, 
Hirst  entered  the  far  end  of  the  establishment ;  a  tall, 
splendid  fellow,  with  his  hat  pushed  far  back  from  his 
brow,  flashing  eyes,  and  a  pistol  in  his  hand. 

Not  a  sound  was  heard  but  the  resolute  tread  of 
Hirst,  as  he  advanced  partly  toward  me  and  partly 
toward  the   billiard  table,  while  the    men  at   play 


A  BLOODY  MEETING.  335 

quietly  fell  back  and  left  the  red  and  white  balls 
dotting  the  green  cloth. 

Those  around  me  sidled  away  right  and  left, 
and  I  stood  alone.  Hirst  advanced  to  the  table, 
darting  his  restless,  keen  eyes  at  me  every  second, 
and,  standing  against  and  leaning  over  the  table,  all 
the  time  watching  me  like  a  cat,  he  punched  the 
billiard  balls  savagely  with  the  muzzle  of  his  pistol. 
He  then  drew  back  from  the  table,  tossed  his  head, 
whistled  something,  and  moved  in  my  direction. 

My  hand  was  on  my  pistol.  The  hammer  was 
raised  and  my  finger  touched  the  trigger ;  but  Hirst, 
without  advancing  further  or  saying  a  word,  quietly 
turned  out  at  a  side  door,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  him 
that  night. 

I  had  done  nothing,  said  nothing,  but  answering 
to  the  rough  code  and  etiquette  of  the  camp,  the 
victory  was  mine;  for  when  a  man  enters  a  room 
where  his  antagonist  is,  it  is  his  place  to  make  the 
first  demonstration.  This  Hirst  did  not  openly  do ; 
still  no  doubt  he  had  done  enough  to  satisfy  his  ambi- 
tion for  that  evening,  and  it  was  evident  the  end  was 
not  yet.  It  was  also  evident,  brave  and  reckless  as 
he  was,  that  he  sought  rather  to  maintain  his  reputa- 
tion for  recklessness  than  to  meet  me  as  he  had  met 
so  many  others. 

I  went  down  the  creek  that  night,  after  this  event, 
with  my  white  friends,  the  gentlemen  who  kept 
the  library,  and  retired. 


336  A  BLOODY  MEETING. 

The  next  morning  we  took  a  walk  about  the 
mining  claim,  returned,  sat  down  in  the  shadow  of 
the  cabin  with  a  few  friends  who  had  gathered  in, 
and  were  talking  over  the  little  event  of  the  evening 
before,  when  Hirst  and  an  officer  came  riding  gaily- 
down  the  road,  followed  by  several  other  gentlemen 
on  horseback,  who  were  coming  down  to  see  the 
result  of  a  second  meeting. 

The  cabins  stood  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
stream  from  the  road,  and  ditches  had  to  be  crossed 
by  the  horsemen  to  reach  us.  The  officer  and  Hirst — 
both  splendid  horsemen  as  well  as  famous  pistol- 
shots — leapt  the  ditches  and  came  darting  over ;  but 
the  others,  whoever  they  were,  as  they  had  an  open 
view  from  where  they  stood,  felt  that  they  were 
quite  near  enough,  and  reined  their  horses. 

The  men  I  was  then  with,  and  with  whom  I  had 
spent  the  night,  were  the  most  peaceful,  noble,  and 
gentlemanly  fellows  in  the  camp,  and  I  had  no  wish 
to  make  their  cabins  the  scene  of  a  tragedy.  I 
was  equally  unwilling  to  submit  to  Hirst  in  any  form 
or  manner,  and  hastily  shaking  hands  with  my 
friends  as  the  men  advanced  up  the  hill,  I  made  off 
up  the  mountain,  perhaps  fifty  yards  in  advance  of 
the  horsemen,  and  on  foot. 

Pistols  flourished  in  the  air,  the  men  started  for- 
ward almost  upon  me,  and  it  looked  as  if  I  was  to  be 
shot  down  and  trampled  under  foot.     The  hill  side 


PISTOL  PRACTICE. 


A  BLOODY  MEETING.  337 

was  steep  and  rocky,  and  the  mettlesome  little 
Mexican  horses  refused  to  rush  upon  me  across  the 
steep  and  broken  ground,  but  began  to  spin  round 
like  tops,  and  would  not  advance  up  the  hill. 

Some  hard,  iron-clad  oaths,  and  then  shot  after 
shot.  I  turned,  drew  a  pistol,  and  the  battle  com- 
menced in  earnest.  The  officer  was  unhorsed,  and 
lay  bleeding  on  the  ground  from  a  frightful  wound, 
while  Hirst,  further  down  the  hill,  could  only  fire 
random  shots  over  the  head  of  his  restless  and 
plunging  horse.     It  lasted  but  a  few  moments. 

These  men  were  both  famous  as  pistol  shots ;  but 
they  were  not,  here,  equal  to  their  reputation, 
and  that  was  because  they  were  shooting  on  a  range 
they  had  never  yet  tried.  They  had  only  practised 
on  the  level  ground  or  in  a  well-arranged  gallery, 
and  when  it  came  to  shooting  up  hill  they  were 
helpless ;  and  so  it  often  happens  with  others.  There 
are  other  men,  again,  who  are  dead  pistol  shots 
when  allowed  to  draw  deliberately  and  take  aim 
slowly  and  fire  at  leisure;  but  when  compelled  to 
use  the  pistol  instantly  in  some  imminent  peril, — the 
only  time  they  are  ever  really  required  to  use  it, — 
they  are  slow,  awkward,  and  embarrassed. 

Let  us  for  a  moment  follow  the  fortunes  of  these 
two  men  before  us :  the  one  lying  bleeding  on  the 
ground,  and  the  other  flying  down  across  the  hill, 
firing,  and  trying  to  hold  his  spirited  horse  to  the 
work.  v 


CHAPTEE  XXVII. 

BKADLEY    AND    HIKST 

EADLEY  tlie  officer  recovered  so  far,  after 
nearly  a  year,  as  to  be  able  to  get  about,  and 
when  the  mines  of  the  north  were  discovered, 
pushed  out  into  that  country. 

I  was  there  before  him.  I  was  engaged  in  trans- 
porting gold  and  letters  for  the  miners  in  the 
mountains  to  and  from  the  settlements,  and  doing  a 
large  and  prosperous  business. 

I  was  in  my  express  office  in  Wallawalla  one 
day,  when  one  of  my  friends  entered  with  some 
agitation  to  tell  me  that  Bradley  was  in  town. 

I  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  sent  word  that  I 
should  like  to  see  him  at  my  office.  He  soon  came 
limping  through  the  door  and  looking  about  for  the 
man  whom  he  had  last  met  face  to  face  in  such 
bloody  combat. 

I  stood  behind  the  counter  and  he  came  forward. 

I  gave  him  my  hand,  while  with  the  left  I  held  my 

little  bulldog  Derringer  at  full-cock  in  my  pocket. 

338 


BRADLEY  AND  HIRST.  339 

He  took  my  hand  hastily,  spoke  kindly,  and  when 
I  looked  fairly  in  his  face  and  saw  the  goodnature 
and  pure  manhood  of  the  man,  I  let  go  my  pistol, 
ashamed  of  my  suspicion,  and  we  went  out  through 
the  town  together. 

He  had  my  ugly  bullet,  which  had  been  cut  from 
his  thigh,  in  his  pocket,  showed  me  the  wound  at  his 
room,  and  we  became  sworn  friends. 

He  opened  business  in  Florence  and  nourished. 
Once  he  did  me  an  infinite  service.  The  country 
was  full  of  robbers,  and,  strange  to  tell,  many  of 
these  men  were  my  acquaintances,  and,  in  some 
cases,  friends. 

I  always  rode  alone  with  as  much  gold  as  my 
horse  could  well  carry,  and  that  at  the  time  was 
required,  in  the  fierce  opposition  we  were  then  running 
to  Wells,  Fargo  and  Co.'s  Express,  for  I  could  not 
afford  to  employ  men  and  horses  to  constitute  a 
guard,  even  if  I  could  have  found  men  who  could 
endure  the  long,  hard  rides  I  was  compelled  to  make. 

"Dave  English  and  his  party,"  said  Bradley,  "is 
going  to  rob  you  ;  one  of  his  pigeons  has  told  me 
this,  and  there  is  no  doubt  of  its  truth." 

I  knew  English  well.  I  wrote  him  a  letter  at 
once  ;  told  him  I  knew  his  plan  in  detail,  that  it  was 
known  to  my  friends,  and  that  he  would  be  held 
responsible.  This  singular  man  came  boldly  into 
my  office,  shook  hands  with  me,  and  said  I  should 
not  be  touched. 


340  BRADLEY  AND  HIRST. 

English  had  five  well-known  followers:  Scott, 
Peoples,  Romain,  and  two  others  whose  names  I 
withhold  because  of  their  relatives,  who  are  of  most 
aristocratic  and  respectable  standing  in  the  Atlantic 
States. 

I  was  not  disturbed;  but  shortly  after  this, 
English,  Scott,  and  Peoples  robbed  some  packers  of  a 
large  amount  of  gold-dust  on  the  highway,  and  were 
arrested. 

At  Lewiston  the  vigilantes  broke  into  the  tem- 
porary prison,  improvised  from  a  big  log  saloon 
then  but  partly  built,  overpowered  the  guard,  and 
told  the  prisoners  to  prepare  to  die. 

They  were  given  ten  minutes  to  invoke  their 
Maker.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  the  only  rope  the 
vigilantes  had  was  thrown  over  a  beam,  and  they 
approached  Scott,  who  was  on  his  knees. 

"  No,  no,1'  cried  English,  "  hang  me  first,  and  let 
him  pray." 

They  left  Scott,  fastened  the  rope  round  the  neck 
of  English,  and  mounted  him  on  a  keg. 

Then  English  turned  to  Scott,  and  said,  "  Scottie, 
pray  for  me  a  little,  can't  you  ?  Damned  if  I  can 
pray  ! "  Then  he  laughed  a  low,  strange  chuckle,  and 
they  kicked  away  the  keg. 

He  hung  till  dead,  and  then  the  noose  reached  for 
another  victim.  Peoples  died  without  a  word,  but 
when  they  came  to  Scott,  he  pleaded  with  all  his 


BRADLEY  AND  HIRST.  341 

might  for  his  life,  and  offered  large  sums  of  gold, 
which  he  said  he  had  buried,  but  finding  them 
inexorable,  he  took  off  his  necktie,  strung  his  finger 
rings  on  it,  and  saying,  "  Send  these  to  my  wife,"  died 
as  the  others. 

The  other  three  of  the  band  were  arrested  soon 
after  for  the  murder  of  McGruder,  and  died  by  the 
civil  law  in  the  same  reckless  manner  as  their  leader. 
All  six  lie  together  on  the  hill  overlooking  Lewiston 
and  the  earthworks  thrown  up  by  Lewis  and  Clark 
in  their  expedition  of  1802-3. 

Bradley  more  than  once  winged  his  man ;  made 
and  lost  several  fortunes  in  the  mountains,  and  is 
now  in  Arizona,  one  of  my  truest  and  best  friends. 

Hirst  was  a  singular  man.  He  used  to  say  that  if 
he  got  through  a  week  without  a  fight  it  ruined  his 
digestion. 

I  think  his  digestion  did  not  suffer. 

No  one  cared,  so  long  as  he  fought  with  men  who 
"  came  from  the  shoulder,"  or  were  on  the  "  cut  and 
shoot;"  but  he  once  fell  upon  an  inoffensive  man, 
nearly  took  his  life,  and  so  left  camp  at  the  sugges- 
tion of  his  friends(?)  and  drifted  north. 

It  is  but  justice  to  this  man  to  state  that  he  really 
had  lost  a  horse,  taken  by  the  Indians  under  my 
order  for  them  to  procure  horses.  Yet  I  had  not 
even  suspected  this  at  the  time  of  our  encounter,  or 
I  could  not  have  borne  myself  as  I  did. 


342  BRADLEY  AND  HIRST 

Fate,  to  my  dismay,  threw  us  together  at  Canon 
City,  Oregon.  I  led  the  settlers  and  miners  in  a  long 
and  disastrous  campaign  against  the  Indians  there, 
and  Hirst  was  as  brave  and  reckless  there  as  else- 
where. Afterwards  I  began  the  practice  of  law, 
and  my  first  client  was  a  boy  of  fifteen,  on  trial  for 
shooting  with  attempt  to  murder. 

The  court-house  here  was  a  saloon,  and  crowded 
to  the  utmost.  A  vigilance  committee  had  been 
organized,  and  strange  as  it  seems,  Hirst  was  one 
of  the  leaders. 

When  my  case  had  fairly  opened,  Hirst  entered 
with  a  brace  of  pistols  sticking  ioosely  in  his  belt  in 
front,  and  striding  through  the  yielding  crowd,  came 
up  and  took  position  only  a  few  feet  from  me,  over- 
looking me,  and  looking  straight  into  the  face  of 
the  timid  magistrate.  Of  course  I  remonstrated  in 
vain.  I  faltered  through  the  case,  but  managed 
somehow  to  get  the  boy  off  with  a  nominal  bail. 

The  energetic  little  rascal  went  into  a  neighbour- 
ing camp  and  with  another  boy  stole  some  horses. 
They  were  followed  by  the  sheriff,  Maddock,  and  his 
deputy,  Hart,  and  a  desperate  fight  took  place,  in 
which  the  deputy  and  my  client's  companion  were 
killed  and  Maddock  left  for  dead. 

My  client  was  tried  for  life,  but  his  youth  saved 
his  neck,  for  he  was  not  yet  sixteen.  He  was  sen- 
tenced to  imprisonment  for  life.     After  five  years  in 


BRADLEY  AND  HIRST,  343 

the  Oregon  state  prison  he  was  pardoned  out  by  the 
kind-hearted  Governor,  now  Governor  of  Utah. 

I  last  year  saw  my  first  client,  a  fine-looking 
young  man,  working  gaily  away  at  a  country  black- 
smith's shop,  on  a  roadside  of  the  Willamette.  May 
good  angels  keep  my  first  client  to  his  work. 

Afterwards,  Hirst  appeared  in  the  criminal  court 
as  defendant,  and  I  was  employed  as  counsel.  His 
crime  was  the  trifling  offence  of  snatching  a  curly- 
headed  Jew  from  behind  his  counter  by  his  curly 
hair,  and  then  dragging  him  by  his  curly  hair  into 
the  street. 

My  bold  client  was  convicted,  but  the  judgment 
was  entered  so  awkwardly,  that  I  had  it  set  aside  on 
review,  and  he  escaped  punishment. 

Soon  after  this  he  married  an  amiable  immigrant 
girl,  and  settled  down  as  the  most  docile  of  men. 
But  this  was  not  to  last. 

One  day  he  came  to  town  in  a  perfect  fury, 
in  search  of  the  deputy  sheriff  Berry,  who  he  claimed 
had  offended  his  wife. 

Berry  was  on  the  alert.  About  dusk  the  two  men 
suddenly  met  face  to  face  on  turning  a  corner  and 
the  ball  opened.  Hirst  was  a  very  tall  man,  and 
always  did  things  with  a  sort  of  flourish.  Although 
quick  as  a  trap  whenever  he  drew  his  pistol,  or  raised 
it  to  fire,  he  always  raised  it  in  the  air  and  fired  as 
the  muzzle  descended. 


344  BRADLEY  AND  HIRST. 

There  are  two  ways  of  firing  a  pistol  in  hand-to- 
hand  combat,  and  only  two.  One  is  to  fire  as  you 
raise,  and  the  other  is  to  raise  and  then  fire  as  you 
fall.  Every  advantage,  it  seems  to  me,  is  with  the 
former  mode,  particularly  when  time  means  every- 
thing. You  can  cock  a  pistol  easier,  it  is  true,  by 
raising  the  muzzle  and  at  the  same  time  raising  the 
hammer,  but  if  strong  in  the  thumb  you  should  by 
all  means  cock  as  you  draw,  and  fire  the  moment  the 
muzzle  is  in  range.  Some  men  in  the  moment  of 
danger  go  about  with  the  pistol  on  cock.  This  is 
madness.  At  the  critical  instant  you  find  yourself 
fumbling  and  feeling  for  the  hammer  which  is  already 
raised;  besides,  you  are  about  as  liable  to  shoot 
yourself  as  your  enemy.  There  is  still  a  worse 
practice  than  this,  and  that  is  in  carrying  the  pistol 
in  the  belt  on  half-cock,  where  it  is  neither  one  thing 
nor  the  other.  On  half-cock,  however,  is  the  correct 
way  to  carry  a  little  Derringer  loose  in  your  pocket, 
but  never  a  Colt's. 

Hirst  raised  his  pistol,  flourished  it,  let  fall  and 
fired,  blowing  Berry's  hat  to  atoms,  filling  his  face  and 
eyes  with  powder,  and  carrying  away  a  part  of  his 
scalp. 

But  he  was  too  late.  Berry  cocked  his  revolver  as 
he  drew  it,  and  fired  the  instant  he  got  the  muzzle  in 
range. 

Hirst  was  reaching  across  his  breast  with  his  left 


BRADLEY  AND  HIRST.  345 

hand  for  his  bowie  knife,  which  hung  at  his  right 
side,  as  Berry  fired.  The  ball  tore  through  the  bones 
of  the  wrist  that  reached  across  his  breast  and 
entered  the  body  squarely  just  below  the  breast 
bone. 

Both  men  fell,  but  Berry  was  soon  able  to  stand  on 
his  feet. 

"Ah,  boys,  this  is  the  last  of  old  Hirst,"  the 
wounded  man  said,  as  they  bore  him  to  the  surgeon's 
close  at  hand.  He  sent  for  his  wife,  gently  and 
kindly  bade  his  friends  good-bye,  and  became  insen- 
sible. I  saw  him  just  before  midnight,  and  he 
scarcely  breathed.  They  said  he  was  dying,  and 
preparations  began  to  be  made  for  the  burial.  I 
took  the  right  hand  in  mine — that  terrible  right  hand 
— so  helpless  now,  so  pale  and  thin  and  pulseless, 
kissed  it  gently — the  kiss  of  forgiveness — in  the  dimly- 
lighted  room,  when  no  one  observed  me,  and  went 
home. 

The  next  morning,  however,  Hirst  was  not  dead. 
He  lay  as  he  lay  through  the  night,  and  the  sur- 
geons said  dissolution  was  only  a  question  of  time. 
The  camp  was  in  suspense.  Was  it  possible  that 
this  man,  who  for  ten  years  had  been  the  terror  of 
Oregon  and  northern  California,  could  still  live  with 
a  navy  bullet  through  his  body  fired  at  two  feet 
distance ! 

Another  day,  and  the  man  opened  his  eyes  and 


346  BRADLEY  AND  IUBST. 

began  to  talk  to  his  poor,  patient  little  wife,  who 
never  left  his  side. 

Hard  as  it  may  seem  on  the  camp,  I  am  bonnd 
to  say  it  did  not  like  this  at  all.  The  camp  had 
thoroughly,  and  very  cheerfully  too,  made  up  its 
mind  that  Hirst  was  a  dead  man,  and  it  did  not  like 
to  be  disappointed. 

Three  days  more  and  the  surgeons  announced  the 
possibility  of  recovery.     The  camp  was  disgusted. 

In  less  than  forty  days  Hirst  was  walking  about 
the  claim  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  quietly  giving 
directions  to  his  labourers. 

One  day  a  man  came  rushing  to  town  for  the 
surgeons.  A  little  battle  had  been  fought  across  the 
street  of  a  little  town  down  the  creek,  and  half  a 
dozen  men  were  in  need  of  help. 

Women  in  the  case  again,  and  Hirst  had  led  the 
fight. 

His  antagonists  were  men  who  claimed  to  be  on 
the  side  of  law  and  order.  They  were  led  by  a  man 
named  Hank  Rice,  one  of  the  County  Commissioners, 
who  afterwards  testified  that  he  fired  at  least  fifty 
shots  that  day  in  his  attempt  to  keep  the  peace. 

Only  able  to  use  one  arm,  Hirst  had,  with  his  fol- 
lowers, converted  the  little  town  into  a  sort  of  minia- 
ture Paris,  with  barricades,  fire-brands,  and  all  the 
modern  improvements.  At  last,  when  attempting  to 
cross  the  street  and  drive  his  enemy  from  shelter,  he 


BRADLEY  AND  HIRST.  347 

received  the  contents  of  a  double-barrelled  shot-gun 
full  in  the  breast  and  fell.     This  ended  the  fight. 

Hirst  still  refused  to  die.  He  was  therefore 
arrested  on  iive  different  and  very  grave  charges,  and 
lodged  in  prison. 

After  he  was  able  to  be  taken  from  prison  to  the 
court  room,  an  examination  was  had.  I  was  his 
advocate.  Bail  was  allowed  after  some  delay,  but  it 
was  fixed  so  high  as  to  be  almost  beyond  our  reach. 
We  tried  "  straw  "  bail,  but  the  prosecuting  attorney 
was  too  rigorous,  and  it  was  only  by  getting  that 
officer  out  into  the  country  to  attend  a  case  we  had 
arranged  for  the  occasion  that  we  got  our  bail 
accepted. 

Hirst  left  the  country  that  night,  his  brave,  faith- 
ful little  wife  soon  followed,  and  I  never  met  him 
again.  After  many  and  similiar  fortunes  we  find 
him  at  Winemuca,  on  the  line  of  the  Pacific  Railroad. 
Here  some  one  killed  him,  though  only  for  a  time, 
by  shooting  him  in  the  head  with  a  Derringer.  He 
recovered,  but  with  the  loss  of  one  his  eyes  and  all 
his  ferocity,  says  report. 

I  have  written  of  him  in  the  past  tense,  because  he 
is  said  to  now  be  a  new  man.  He  was  a  year  or  so 
ago — though  the  shifting  fortunes  of  the  country  may 
have  left  him  by  this  time  on  other  ground — a  man  of 
wealth. 

In   all   the   experience   of    my  life   spent   mostly 


348  BRADLEY  AND  HIRST. 

among  the  most  lawless  and  reckless,  I  know  of 
no  history  so  remarkable  as  his.  How  he  so  con: 
tinually  escaped  death  will  never  cease  to  be  a  marvel 
among  the  men  of  that  country.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered, however,  that  while  he  survived,  perhaps  a 
thousand  of  his  class  perished. 

Through  all  his  stirring  and  bloody  career,  let  this 
be  said,  he  was  generous  and  open-hearted,  kind  to 
most  men,  industrious,  and  certainly  as  brave  as 
Caesar. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


BATTLES    ON   THE    BORDER. 


NTIRELY  with  my  left  hand  had  I  made 
the  %ht,  for  my  right  one  was  still  stiff  and 
useless  from  the  shot  of  the  would-be  assassin 
of  the  Pit  River  expedition.  My  friends  and  others 
were  now  running  up  the  hill  to  the  fallen  officer, 
and  Hirst  was  only  now  and  then  sending  up  in  my 
direction  a  random  shot  as  I  turned  my  back  on  the 
scene,  and  pushed  up  the  mountain  into  the  forest. 
My  Panama  hat  flapped  and  fluttered  down  on  one 
side  of  my  face  like  the  wing  of  a  wounded  bird.  A 
pistol  ball  had  torn  it  to  ribbons. 

A  bullet  makes  only  a  small  hole  in  cloth,  in  buck- 
skin a  still  smaller  one ;  but  it  tears  linen  savagely, 
as  well  as  straw.  The  hard,  tough  fibre  of  which 
Panama  hats  are  made,  particularly  when  rendered 
hard  and  brittle  in  a  California  sun,  flies  into  shreds 
before  it. 

Most  people  imagine  you  can  hear  any  bullet  whistle 

that  passes  you.     This  is  a  mistake ;  you  hear  only 

349 


350  BATTLES  ON 

the  bullet  that  has  first  struck  some  object  and  then 
glanced  on,  catching  the  air,  and  whizzing  like  a  bee 
at  your  ear,  but  almost  quite  as  harmless.  These  you 
can  hear  distinctly  a  hundred  yards  away,  and  they 
sound  very  ugly ;  but  a  round,  unmarred  pistol  ball 
can  pass  within  six  inches  of  your  head  and  hardly  be 
heard.  You  not  only  do  not  hear  the  ball  strike  your 
body,  but  you  scarcely  feel  it  at  first,  though  you  can 
hear  it  strike  a  man  at  your  side ;  and  the  sound  is 
dead,  dull,  suggestive  and  almost  sickening. 

I  began  to  think  I  had  escaped  without  a  scratch  ; 
but  after  climbing  up  the  hill  till  quite  out  of  reach, 
and  turning  to  look  below,  I  raised  my  disabled  right 
arm,  and  found  my  hand  and  fingers  streaming  with 
blood. 

I  was  still  strong  and  resolute;  and,  observing 
some  men  coming  slowly  up  the  hill  with  a  show  of 
pursuit,  I  hurried  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  sat  down 
there  and  examined  my  wound.  A  ball  had  torn 
across  the  back  of  the  wrist  and  cut  a  vein  or  artery 
there,  but  done  no  further  damage  whatever. 

I  was  wearing  a  linen  shirt,  for  I  always  dressed 
as  nearly  like  the  white  men  as  I  could  when 
amongst  them,  and  from  this  I  tore  a  strip  and  bound 
up  the  damaged  wrist.  But  it  still  bled  dreadfully, 
and  I  sat  down  often,  as  I  retreated  still  further  into 
the  forest,  and  up  and  over  the  hills,  and  bound  the 
wound  as  best  I  could,  and  tightened  the  bandages. 


TEE  BORDER.  351 

The  weather  was  intensely  hot,  and  my  blood  was 
boiling  from  excitement  and  exertion.  This  made 
the  blood  stream  the  more  profusely,  and  I  suffered 
dreadfully  from  thirst. 

I  sat  down  at  length  on  a  log  by  the  side  of  a 
thicket  of  chaparral  to  decide,  if  possible,  what 
course  to  pursue,  and  was  still  tying  up  my  wound 
and  trying  to  stop  the  blood,  with  a  pistol  lying  at 
my  side,  when  I  saw  two  men  approaching  on  horse- 
back. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  dash  into  the  brush ;  but 
then  I  resolved  to  fight  if  must  be,  and  run  no 
farther.  I  took  my  pistol  in  my  hand,  cocked  it, 
laid  it  across  my  lap,  and  sat  still. 

The  men  were  strangers.  They  held  up  their 
hands  in  sign  of  friendship ;  but  I  was  excited,  weak, 
alone,  almost  helpless,  and  hence  suspicious. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  little  one,"  one  of  them  called 
out ;  "  we  are  friends,  and  only  want  to  assist  you." 

I  still  said  nothing,  held  my  pistol  ready,  and  did 
not  move. 

They  talked  together  a  moment,  then  one  of  them 
dismounted  and  came  toward  me,  holding  his  pistol 
by  the  muzzle  in  his  left  hand. 

"Here,  take  this  pistol,"  were  his  first  words,  and 
he  reached  it  out  and  sat  down  by  my  side.  "  You 
see  we  don't  know  much  about  you;  you  maybe 
good  or  you  may  be  bad,  but  we  don't  like  to  see  too 


352  BATTLES  ON 

many  on  one,  and  we  are  come  to  help  you  get 
away." 

These  men  proved  to  be  miners ;  prominent,  peace- 
ful, and  influential  men. 

They  gave  me  another  pistol  to  replace  the  one 
that  had  been  discharged  in  the  fight,  the  best  one  of 
the  two  horses,  and  a  trifle  of  money,  and  insisted 
that  I  should  return  to  civilization. 

I  told  them  that  that  was  impossible ;  that  I  could 
not  abandon  my  Indians ;  besides,  pursuit  would  run 
in  that  direction,  and  more  blood  would  follow.  I 
told  them  frankly  that  I  should  return  to  the  Indians 
in  the  black  forests  of  Mount  Shasta;  and  they  let  me 
have  my  own  way. 

I  mounted  my  horse,  shook  hands  with  them  soon, 
and  almost  in  silence.  I  could  not  speak.  I  was 
choking  with  a  new  emotion.  Injury  and  insult, 
oppression,  persecution,  mental  agony,  and  wrongs 
almost  intolerable,  had  not  roused  me ;  but  now  I 
drew  my  battered  hat  down  over  my  eyes  and  hid  my 
face.  The  strong  men  turned  their  backs,  as  if 
embarrassed,  looked  down  over  the  smoky  camp,  and 
I  rode  away  in  silence. 

These  two  noble,  manly-hearted  men,  heroes  who 
never  fought  a  battle,  never  had  a  quarrel,  at  last  lie 
buried  on  the  hills  of  Idaho.  May  the  wild  spring 
blossoms  gather  about  them  there ;  may  the  partridge 
whistle  in  the  tall  brown  grass  of  autumn,  plaintive 


THE  BOEDER.  353 

and  tenderly,  and  the  snows  of  winter  fall,  soft 
and  beautiful,  above  their  peaceful  breasts. 

I  turned  a  spur  of  the  mountain,  through  the  wood, 
till  I  came  to  an  open  space  that  looked  down  over 
my  Indian  camp,  and  dismounting,  made  a  signal, 
such  as  is  used  by  the  Indians  in  war. 

This  is  done  by  making  a  bunch  of  dry  grass  or 
leaves  into  a  little  ball,  lighting  it  and  holding  it 
up  as  it  smokes  and  burns  on  the  point  of  a  stick ; 
if  you  mean  danger  to  your  friends,  and  wish  them 
to  fly,  you  hold  it  up  till  it  dies  out,  which  takes 
some  minutes.  If  danger  to  yourself,  and  you  need 
assistance,  you  hold  up  the  signal  and  let  the  smoke 
ascend,  at  short  intervals.  If  you  wish  some  one  to 
approach  you  move  it  backwards.  If  you  wish  only 
to  signal  your  own  approach  you  move  it  forward, 
and  so  on  through  a  long  list  of  signs. 

There   is   a   great   difference   in   the  density  and 

colour  of  the  smoke  made  by  different  combustibles. 

You  know,  or  at  least  all  who  read  ought  to  know  as 

much  as  an  Indian  about  a  thing  so  simple  as  this, 

that  the  smoke  of  dry  straw  or  grass,  particularly  of 

the  wild  grass  of  California,  is  so  much  lighter  than 

the  atmosphere  of  even  the  rarest  season,  that  it  goes 

straight  up — a  long,  thin,  white  thread,  surging  and 

veering  toward  heaven  against  the  blue  sky  like  the 

tail  of  a  Chinese  kite. 

Another  noble  fellow  found  me  here  and  gave  me 
w 


354:  BATTLES  ON 

the  hand  of  friendship;  Frank  Maddox,  now  a 
wealthy  and  influential  citizen  of  Ummatilla,  Oregon, 
where  he  has  been  for  a  succession  of  terms  sheriff 
df  the  county. 

It  takes  a  brave  man  to  step  out  from  the  world 
arrayed  against  you  and  stand  by  }7our  side  at  such 
a  time.  Such  deeds,  rare  as  they  are,  make  you 
believe  in  men  ;  they  make  you  better. 

The  Indian  warrior  at  length  came,  stealing  through 
the  brush  and  up  the  mountain.  I  told  him  what  had 
happened,  bade  him  return  to  his  camp,  and  tell  the 
women  to  pack  up  and  push  out  through  the  moun- 
tains, with  what  arms  and  ammunition  they  had,  for 
the  McCloud.  The  faithful  fellow  went  back,  and 
before  dusk  returned  to  me  with  water,  Indian 
bread  and  venison,  and  then  back  again  to  make  his 
way  with  the  women  and  children  through  the  moun- 
tains to  our  home  on  the  other  side  of  Shasta.  I 
never  saw  him  a^ain. 

In  crossing  the  trail  leading  from  the  head  of  Shasta 
valley  to  Scott's  valley  they  fell  into  the  hands  of 
some  brutal  rancheros  who  hung  the  Indian  war- 
rior, plundered  the  women  and  took  some  of  the 
children  to  keep  as  herders,  cooks,  and  for  such 
other  service  as  they  might  see  fit  to  impose. 

I  stole  down  the  mountain  to  the  stage  road,  some 
miles  to  the  east ;  and  what  a  glorious  ride  !  I  was 
glad  again,  free,  wild  as  the  wind.     Once  more  on 


TEE  BOEDER.  355 

horse  and  anticipating  pursuit  I  forgot  my  wound, 
the  care  and  peril.  I  exulted  in  my  fierce  and  fearless 
flight. 

My  horse  proved  to  be  of  the  noblest  blood  and 
mettle.  In  less  than  an  hour  we  were  on  the  best  of 
terms  and  understood  each  other  perfectly.  I  would 
dismount  at  every  steep  or  dangerous  pass,  stroke  his 
neck,  set  the  saddle  well  in  its  place  and  talk  to 
him  as  to  a  friend.  He  in  return  would  reach  out  his 
nose,  snuff  the  air  loud  and  strong,  strike  the  ground 
with  his  feet,  as  if  to  tell  me  he  was  equal  to  it  all 
and  was  anxious  to  plunge  ahead. 

If  you  have  a  hard  and  desperate  ride  to  make 
get  on  good  terms  with  your  horse.  Do  not  beat 
him,  do  not  spur  him,  but  stroke  his  mane  with  your 
hand,  speak  to  him,  show  that  you  are  a  man  and  in 
peril  and  he  will  take  you  through  or  die  in  his 
tracks.  All  through  that  ride  of  fifty  miles  I  lived  a 
splendid  song.  I  climbed  the  mountains  at  dawn, 
my  horse,  strong  and  nervous  still,  foaming  and 
plunging  like  a  flood. 

That  night  I  reached  the  Indian  camp.  Here  was 
business, — blood.  The  women  and  children  were 
mostly  high  up  in  the  mountain,  almost  against  the 
snow ;  but  the  warriors,  with  a  few  women  that  re- 
fused to  leave  them,  were  on  the  east  of  the  McCloud, 
on  the  outskirts  of  their  possessions.  They  had  been 
assisting  the  Pit  River  Indians,  and  had  invariably 


356  BATTLES  ON 

lost,  until  their  force,  weak,  even  at  the  opening  of  the 
spring,  from  starvation  and  disease  and  disaster,  had 
become  thinned  and  dispirited. 

A  council  was  held  that  night,  and  the  few  warriors, 
scared,  wounded,  and  worn-out,  talked  themselves 
and  their  friends  again  into  heart,  and  preparations 
were  made  to  go  still  further,  and  assist  the  Pit 
Rivers  against  the  white  soldiers  to  their  uttermost. 

Little  Klamat,  now  a  man,  and  a  man  of  authority, 
was  already  in  the  front.  That  fierce  boy,  burning 
with  a  memory  that  possessed  him  utterly,  and  made 
him  silent,  sullen,  and  desperate,  cared  not  where  he 
fought  or  for  whom  he  fought,  only  so  that  he  fought 
the  common  enemy. 

Paquita  was  also  with  the  Pit  River  Indians. 
What  was  she  doing  ?  Moulding  bullets  !  Grinding 
bread?  Shaping  arrow-heads  and  stringing  bows? 
Maybe  she  was  a  sort  of  Puritan  mother  fighting  the 
British  for  home  and  hearthstone  in  the  Revolution. 
Maybe  she  was  a  Florence  Nightingale  nursing  the 
British  soldiers  in  the  Crimea.  No !  the  world  will 
not  believe  it.  No  good  deed  can  be  done  by  an 
Indian.     Why  attempt  to  recount  it  ? 

We  went  down  to  the  camp,  where  Klamat,  Paquita, 
and  about  one  hundred  warriors,  with  a  few  women 
who  were  nursing  their  wounded,  were  preparing  for 
another  brush  with  the  soldiery.  Here  we  waited 
till   the   Modocs   came   down,  and  the  three  tribes 


THE  BORDER.  357 

joined  their  thinned  forces,  and  made  common  cause. 

In  a  few  days  we  advanced,  and  fell  in  with  a 
company  of  cavalry  scouring  the  country  for  prisoners 
to  take  to  the  dreaded  Reservation.  Women  gather- 
ing roots  for  their  half-starved  children,  children 
whose  parents  had  been  slain,  lost  in  the  woods,  and 
wandering  they  knew  not  whither,  were  about  all 
they  thus  far  could  capture. 

Shots  were  exchanged.  The  cavalry  dismounted 
and  fought  on  foot.  The  Indians  shot  wildly,  for 
they  were  poorly  armed ;  but  the  soldiers  shot  still 
more  so,  so  that  but  little  damage  was  done  to  either 
side.  Now  and  then  a  soldier  would  be  carried  to 
the  rear,  and  now  and  then  they  would  charge  up  the 
hills  or  across  the  ravines,  but  that  was  all  that  marked 
the  events  of  the  day  till  almost  nightfall.  I  was 
impatient  of  all  this.  We  could  not  reach  the  rear 
of  the  soldiers,  resting  against  the  river,  nor  offend 
the  flanks. 

Toward  nightfall  the  Indians,  now  almost  entirely 
out  of  ammunition,  withdrew,  leaving  the  soldiers,  as 
usual,  masters  of  the  ground. 

I  had  taken  no  active  part  in  the  skirmish.  I  was 
there  as  an  eager  and  curious  witness.  I  wished  to 
see  how  the  Indians  would  bear  themselves  in  battle. 
I  felt  that  on  their  conduct  that  day  depended  the 
fate  of  my  plans.  From  first  to  last  it  was  not  encour- 
aging.    They  were   brave   enough,  and   some   were 


358  BATTLES  ON 

even  reckless ;  but  I  saw  that  dissension,  impatience, 
envy,  and  ambition  to  be  at  the  head,  marked  the 
conduct  of  many  of  the  leading  men.  There  was 
too  much  of  the  white  man's  nature  here  to  make  one 
confident  of  success  in  a  long  and  bitter  war.  I  had 
hoped  their  desperate  situation  had  made  them  a 
unit  with  but  one  single  object.     I  was  disappointed. 

For  some  time  I  had  been  the  nominal  war-chief 
of  the  Modocs,  for  since  the  Ben  Wright  massacre, 
where  their  great  chief  was  killed,  they  had  had  no 
fit  leader  in  battle,  but  policy  dictated  that  in  order 
to  keep  down  jealousies,  I  should  not  at  once  push 
the  Modocs  too  much  to  the  front.  The  three  tribes 
had  never  fought  together  before  for  many  genera- 
tions, though  they  had  often  fought  against  each 
other,  and  everything  depended  on  unity  and  good- 
will. The  results  of  the  day  were  discouraging 
enough. 

They  retreated  far  up  a  canon,  plunging  toward 
the  river,  and  there  in  a  great  cave  by  a  dim  camp 
fire  refreshed  themselves  on  a  few  dried  roots  and 
venison ;  then  after  a  long  smoke  in  silence,  the  chief 
slowly  rose  and  opened  a  council  of  war.  Many 
speeches  were  made,  but  they  mostly  consisted  in 
boasts  of  personal  achievements.  They  talked  them- 
selves into  sudden  and  high  confidence,  which  I  knew 
any  little  reverse  would  dispel.  They  were  assured 
of  success  by  signs,  they  said,  and  dreams,  as  well  as 


THE  BORDER.  359 

by  the  events  of  the  day.  The  spirits  of  their  fathers 
had  fought  with  them  and  for  them. 

I  spoke  last  of  all,  and  spoke  in  no  encouraging 
spirit,  I  tried  to  tell  them  first  how  things  stood, 
and  how  desperate  and  determined  they  must  be 
before  the  great  object — a  recognition  of  our  rights — 
was  reached.  I  told  them  that  they  had  not  won  the 
fight  at  all ;  that  the  soldiers  stood  their  ground,  and 
now  had  possession  of  the  field  of  battle. 

An  old  Indian  sitting  back  in  a  crevice  of  the  rock 
called  out,  "  Ah  !  what  matters  a  few  steps  of  ground 
when  there  is  so  much  V 

I  saw  my  little  Republic  going  to  pieces  even 
before  it  had  been  fairly  launched,  and  slept  but  little 
that  nio;ht. 

At  midnight  women  were  dispatched  to  the  various 
camps,  to  give  glowing  accounts  of  the  action,  and 
also  to  bring  provisions  and  whatever  ammunition 
and  arms  could  be  had. 

That  night  I  proposed  that  I  should  cross  the 
river  with  a  few  Indians,  proceed  to  a  temporary 
military  camp  near  Hat  Creek,  state  distinctly  what 
the  Indians  desired,  and  try  and  get  some  recogni- 
tion of  their  rights  before  they  should  be  driven  to 
the  wall. 

They  would  not  at  first  consent  to  imperil  any  of 
their  number  in  this  way.  The  Ben  Wright  massacre 
could  not  be  forgotten.     They  seemed  to  think  that 


360  BATTLES  ON 

no  Indian  could  enter  a  white  enemy's  camp  and 
come  out  alive.  They  wanted  me  to  go  again  and 
attempt  once  more  to  get  a  supply  of  arms  and  am- 
munition. They  said  that  from  the  first  I  had  prom- 
ised this,  and  that  now  it  was  the  only  thing  that 
would  save  them. 

At  last  it  was  agreed  that  I  should  select  four 
Indians,  go  at  first  to  the  military  camp  myself  with 
the  Indians  a  little  in  the  background,  so  as  to  have 
some  chance  for  their  lives  in  case  of  treachery,  and 
see  what  I  could  do ;  failing  in  my  negotiations  I  was  to 
proceed  to  Shasta  city  at  once,  and  endeavour  to  get 
arms  and  ammunition  at  all  risks. 

I  chose  two  Modoc  Indians  and  two  Shastas — all 
young  men,  "brave,  resolute,  and  full  of  fire — and 
prepared  to  set  out  at  once  on  my  dangerous  mission 
of  peace. 

The  Indians  had  captured  two  stage-coaches  carry- 
ing treasure  and  the  United  States  mails,  besides  a 
small  train  with  general  supplies  and  a  sum  of 
gold  and  silver  for  the  payment  of  soldiers,  and  had 
an  abundance  of  money.  They  cared  nothing  for  it, 
however.  I  have  seen  children  laying  little  mosaic 
plots  in  the  sand  with  silver  and  gold  coins,  which 
they  valued  only  for  their  brightness  and  colour. 
But  this  now  to  me  was  of  use.  I  took  my 
men,  with  a  good  supply  of  money,  crossed  the 
river,  pushed  on  through  the  woods  to   the  stage- 


THE  BORDER.  361 

road,  and  there,  after  some  delay,  bought  the  best 
horses  to  be  had,  of  several  Mexican  vaqueros 
making  their  way  from  Yreka  to  Red  Bluffs.  I 
also  secured  their  sympathy  and  their  friendship  by 
liberal  and  generous  dealing,  and  assurance  of  safety 
through  the  country. 

These  Mexicans,  packers  and  vaqueros,  ever  since 
the  war  with  Mexico  and  the  conquest  of  California 
by  the  United  States,  have  with  reason  held  only 
ill-will  toward  the  Americans.  Speaking  another 
tongue,  adhering  to  another  form  of  religion,  the 
mass  of  white  men  have  never  yet  come  to  forget 
the  battle-fields  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago. 
I  always  found  that  I  could  approach  these  Mexi- 
can rovers,  and  obtain  almost  any  favour  I  asked, 
most  especially  if  it  pointed  to  assistance  of  the 
Indians,  and  disadvantage  to  the  whites. 

We  rode  down  to  the  military  camp,  and  found  the 
small  force  with  the  officers  on  parade.  The  Indians 
rode  a  few  yards  in  the  rear  as  I  approached  the 
officer  of  the  day,  dismounted  and  held  my  hat  in 
one  hand  and  lariat  in  the  other.  The  officers  ex- 
changed glances,  and  I  grew  nervous. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


MY   MISSION    OF   PEACE. 


HE  Indians  stood  behind,  the  two  officers 
came  towards  me  together,  and  I  told  them 
hurriedly  that  the  Indians  wanted  peace  if 
they  could  be  left  alone  about  the  base  of  Shasta,  and 
that  I  had  come  from  them  to  say  this. 

My  Indians,  seeing  me  stand  quietly  and  let  the 
officers  approach,  had  dismounted,  and  stood  watching 
every  movement,  lariats  in  hand. 

I  began  again  excitedly,  but  the  officer  forgetting 
himself,  called  out  sharply  to  his  corporal,  and  then 
said  to  me, 

"  What !  are  you  the " 

I  sprang  into  my  saddle  in  an  instant. 

"  Tokadu  !  Kisa  !  "  I  called  to  the  Indians,  and  they 
laid  their  hands  on  their  Mexican  horses'  manes,  and 
sprang  to  their  backs  even  as  they  ran,  for  these 
horses  sniff  danger  as  quick  as  an  Indian. 

A  volley  of  shots  followed  us  and  scattered  bits  of 

bark  across   our   faces  from  the  pines  as  we  disap- 

362 


DISCUSSING  PEACE  MEASURES. 


M  Y  MISSION  OF  PEA  CK  363 

peared  in  the  forest,  but  did  no  further  harm.  My 
mission  of  peace  was  at  an  end.  Bitterly  indeed  I 
deplored  its  blunt  and  rough  conclusion.  I  had 
always  hated  war  and  despised  warriors.  Warriors 
are  coarse-natured  men  trained  to  destroy  what 
refined  and  gentle  men  build  up. 

Men  fight  for  freedom  of  body.  There  is  no  such 
thing.  For  six  thousand  years  men  have  struggled 
for  a  mistake.  There  is  a  freedom  of  mind,  and  a 
man  can  have  that  just  as  much  in  a  monarchy  as  in 
a  land  even  beyond  the  pale  of  law.  A  shoemaker 
or  mender  of  nets  may  be  as  free  of  mind  as  a 
monarch.  Give  us  freedom  of  mind,  or  rather  let 
each  man  emancipate  his  mind,  and  all  the  rest  will 
follow.  It  is  not  in  the  power  of  kings  to  enslave 
the  mind,  or  of  presidents  to  emancipate  it.  Free 
the  mind  and  the  body  will  free  itself. 

Poets,  painters,  historians,  and  artists  generally, 
are  responsible  for  the  wars  they  deprecate,  the 
devastation  they  deplore.  Let  the  poet  cease  to 
celebrate  men's  achievements  in  battle,  men,  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  who  have  not  even  the  virtues  of  a 
bull-dog,  men  in  debt,  desperate,  who  have  nothing 
to  lose  in  the  desolation  they  spread,  and  everything 
to  gain,  and  wars  will  cease  at  once.  Ridicule  the 
warrior  as  we  do  the  bully  of  the  prize  ring,  as  he 
deserves  to  be,  and  the  pen  will  no  longer  be  the 
servant  of  the  sword. 


364  MY  MISSION 

So  long  as  the  world  goes  on  admiring  these  deeds 
of  ruffianism,  so  long  will  wars  continue.  Let  the 
historian  enter  into  the  heart,  the  private  life  of  his 
hero ;  let  him  refuse  to  be  dazzled  by  the  dome  of 
the  temple,  but  enter  in  and  see  for  himself,  and  let 
him  give  the  world  the  cold,  clean  truth,  the  whole 
truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  as  he  is  in  duty 
and  in  honour  bound,  and  we  will  find  the  hero  of 
war  is  much  the  more  a  brute  and  much  the  less  a 
man  than  the  bully  of  the  prize  ring.  The  bully 
harms  no  one  but  his  single  antagonist ;  no  cities  are 
burned,  no  fields  laid  waste,  no  orphans  made ;  and 
he  risks  much  and  makes  but  little,  at  the  best.  The 
warrior  risks  but  little,  for  the  chances  of  being  hit 
are  remote  indeed.  Any  soldier  who  receives  half 
the  punishment  the  man  of  the  ring  must  receive  is 
sure  of  promotion  and  laudation  to  the  skies.  Say 
what  you  will,  your  soldier  is  a  ruffian.  The  greater 
the  ruffian  the  better  the  soldier. 

Should  a  man  not  fight  to  defend  his  country? 
Should  he  not  go  around  trained  and  equipped  for 
battle,  and  make  a  machine  of  himself  in  a  military 
system,  take  all  the  time  he  should  devote  to  some 
natural  and  pure  pursuit,  and  devote  it  to  the  art  of 
destroying  cities  and  slaying  men  ?  No,  there  is  not 
the  slightest  use  or  excuse  for  the  soldier.  Let  all 
warriors  remain  at  home  and  there  will  be  no  wars. 
Let  bullies  be  treated  as  they  deserve  and  there  will 
be  no  warriors. 


OF  PEACE.  365 

If  a  set  of  men  enter  my  fields  in  violation  of  my 
rights,  injure  my  property  and  take  away  my  corn, 
shall  I  not  shoot  them  down  ?  Shall  I  not  arm  my 
household,  and  proceed  to  their  fields  and  destroy 
also  ?  No,  you  answer,  there  is  a  law  in  the  land  to 
protect  you,  a  higher  authority  to  appeal  to. 

Well,  I  say  to  the  nations,  there  is  a  God  in  the 
land.     A  higher  authority.     Appeal  to  Him. 

But,  you  answer,  there  is  no  God :  or  what  is 
much  the  same  thing,  you  refuse  to  trust,  to  believe 
that  nothing  can  wrong  you  so  long  as  you  do  no 
wrong.  Very  well,  even  admit  there  is  no  God,  and 
you  will  find  there  is  a  moral  idea  of  right  in  the 
world  to-day  that  will  not  let  one  nation  long 
oppress  another. 

Beasts  have  gone  back  to  the  jungles.  Theseus 
may  sleep  and  Hercules  put  aside  his  club  and 
surrender  to  love.  Man  is  no  more  in  danger  from 
them. 

Savage  men  have  passed  away.  They  come  not 
down  from  the  north  nor  np  from  the  south ;  and 
even  if  they  did,  I  believe  they  could  be  won  to  us 
by  kindness  and  an  appeal  to  their  sense  of  right. 
But  should  that  not  be  possible,  I  know  their  favour 
could  be  bought  with  a  hundredth  part  of  the  time 
and  money  that  is  spent  in  a  single  war. 

The  loss  of  life  in  war  is  not  much — it  is  the  least 
of  all  things  to  be  thought  of.     Men  who  fall  in 


366  MY  MISSION 

"battle  have  mostly  seen  enough  of  life.  Many  have 
passed  its, prime,  all  have  seen  its  spring,  and  they 
do  not,  on  an  average,  lose  more  than  ten  or  a  dozen 
years. 

It  is  the  bad  moral  effect.  Towns  grow  up  again ; 
ships  rebuild,  and  nations  somehow  drag  through, 
and  are  going  on  in  a  little  time  the  same  as  before. 
But  only  think  how  much  time,  how  much  talk,  how 
much  that  is  cruel  must  come  out  of  the  memory  of 
a  single  war  so  long  as  any  one  lives  to  remember  it. 

If  in  the  great  conflagration  every  book  from  Gen- 
esis to  the  New  Testament  had  been  utterly  swept 
away,  the  world  had  been  another  world.  The  poets, 
the  painters,  the  historians,  have  this  in  their  own 
hands.  "  Peace  hath  her  victories  no  less  renowned 
than  war."  If  I  were  a  great  poet,  rather  than  cele- 
brate the  deeds  of  battle,  I  would  starve. 

I  now  threw  all  my  energy  into  the  effort  to  keep 
faith  with  the  Indians  in  the  mountains. 

I  reached  the  Sacramento  river  and  crossed  at  the 
ferry  near  Rock  creek.  I  hid  the  Indians'  camp 
in  the  willows  near  the  mouth  of  that  stream,  and  a 
few  miles  from  Shasta  city,  while  I  took  lodgings 
at  a  wayside  hotel  hard  by,  and  began  at  once  to  pur- 
chase arms  and  ammunition,  which  I  carried  by  night 
to  the  Indian  camp  in  the  willows. 

I  soon  had  a  good  supply,  and  was  only  waiting  a 
fine  moonlight  night  to  push  out,  when  it  became 


OF  PEACE.  367 

evident  one  evening  at  my  hotel  that  my  movements 
were  watched. 

I  ordered  my  horse,  left  him  standing  at  the  rack, 
and  went  at  the  back  of  the  house  up  the  hill,  and 
from  a  point  whence  I  could  not  be  seen  from  the 
hotel,  signalled  for  one  of  my  Indians.  He  came, 
and  I  hastily  gave  this  order:  "Pack  up  at  once, 
three  of  you,  swim  your  horses,  cross  the  supplies 
in  the  Indian  canoe,  and  push  out  for  home  up  the 
Pit.  One  of  you  will  come  with  me,  for  we  must  ride 
to  Shasta  city  for  pistols  there,  and  will  then  overtake 
you  before  dawn." 

The  Indian  and  I  rode  leisurely  to  Shasta  city, 
waiting  for  darkness.  As  I  neared  town  I  saw  two 
men  cross  a  ridge  behind  us,  halt,  and  then,  when  they 
thought  they  were  unobserved,  push  hard  after  us. 

I  left  the  Indian  on  the  hill  north  of  town  by 
the  graveyard,  and  went  down  to  the  gunsmith's, 
where  I  had  some  half-dozen  revolvers  being  repaired. 
I  hitched  my  horse  at  the  rack  and  went  in.  The 
two  men  rode  into  town,  rode  past  my  horse,  eyeing 
him  closely  sideways  from  under  their  cavalry  hats, 
and  I  then  knew  that  I  had  been  followed  from  the 
mountains,  and  had  something  more  now  than  the 
settlers  to  deal  with.  In  a  few  minutes  I  saw  these 
men  watching  me  from  the  door  of  the  shop  across 
the  narrow  street. 

It  was  now  nearly  dark  but  I  asked  the  gunsmith  to 


368  MY  MISSION 

let  me  take  a  brace  of  the  pistols,  and  go  out  the  back 
way  and  lire  them  into  the  hill.  I  buckled  the  pistols 
about  me  over  my  others,  he  opened  the  door,  I  paid 
him  liberally,  and  went  out,  promising  soon  to  return. 

I  did  not  discharge  a  shot,  but  hurried  down  a 
back  alley  to  a  barber's  shop  and  had  my  long  and 
luxuriant  hair  cut  close  to  the  scalp.  I  then  bought 
a  black  suit  of  clothes  and  new  hat  at  an  adjoining 
Jew's  shop,  dressed  in  a  back  room,  ordering  the  Jew 
to  keep  my  cast-off  clothes  carefully  till  I  returned, 
and  then  went  boldly  into  the  street.  My  own 
brother  would  not  have  known  me. 

I  walked  leisurely  along,  looking  carefully  at  the 
hundreds  of  horses  hitched  at  the  racks.  At  length 
I  found  one  that  looked  equal  to  a  long  and  reckless 
ride,  unhitched  him,  mounted  and  rode  up  past  my 
own  horse  and  out  of  town  unchallenged,  to  my  patient 
Indian  on  the  hill  by  the  graveyard. 

We  divided  the  pistols  and  struck  out  up  the  stage 
road  for  the  bridge  on  the  Sacramento.  We  reached 
the  end  of  the  bridge  in  safety,  and  I  hastily  handed 
the  keeper  his  toll.  He  took  the  piece  of  silver,  pro- 
nounced it  a  bad  coin,  returned  it  and  demanded 
another;  all  the  time  talking  and  causing  delay.  I 
now  handed  him  a  piece  of  gold,  and  he  professed  to 
be  unable  to  give  change.     Delay  was  what  he  desired. 

We  left  him  and  galloped  across  the  bridge.  We 
did  not  see  the  bar  at  ihe  further  end,  and  while  the 


OF  PEACE.  3G9 

Indian's  horse  by  some  good  fortune  cleared  it,  mine 
struck  it  with  all  his  force  and  fell  over  it,  throwing 
me  over  his  head,  and  bruising  me  fearfully.  I  got 
on  his  back  again,  but  was  bleeding  from  my  mouth 
from  internal  injuries,  and  could  scarcely  keep  my 
seat.  1  had  lost  one  of  my  pistols  in  the  fall.  There 
was  now  a  sound  of  horses'  feet  in  the  rear,  men 
calling  in  the  dark,  and  horsemen  thundering  across 
the  bridge.  At  this  point  some  men  came  riding 
down  the  narrow  road,  with  its  precipitous  bluff  on 
one  side  and  perpendicular  wall  on  the  other,  and 
called  out  to  us  to  stop. 

"We  set  spurs  to  our  horses,  and  dashed  up  the  hill 
right  into  their  faces.  They  did  not  fire  a  shot  as  we 
approached,  but  halted,  let  us  pass,  and  then,  as  if 
recovering  their  senses,  sent  several  random  shots 
after  us.     An  innocent  good-night. 

I  had  my  pistol  in  my  hand ;  and  as  I  could  hear 
but  imperfectly,  and  was  otherwise  suffering  fear- 
fully, I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing.  I  fancied  I 
heard  our  pursuers  upon  us,  and  attempting  to  wheel 
and  fire,  I  accidentally  discharged  my  pistol  into  the 
shoulder  of  my  own  horse  as  we  turned  the  top  of 
the  hill. 

The  poor  beast  could  only  spin  around  on  three 
legs  now,  and  as  we  could  not  get  him  to  follow  the 
road  farther,  the  Indian  led  him  off  to  a  thicket  of 
chaparral,  left  him,  and  we  hastened  on. 


370  MY  MISSION 

I  now  rode  the  remaining  horse,  and  the  Indian 
ran  along  the  dusty  walk  at  my  side.  We  reached 
a  little  mining  camp  called  Churn  Town, — a  camp 
which  1  had  visited  often  before, — and  there  finding 
a  number  of  horses  tied  to  a  rack,  we  determined  to 
procure  another,  since  it  would  be  impossible  to  over- 
take our  companions  half  mounted  as  we  were. 

The  Indian  took  some  money,  and  went  through 
the  town,,  in  hope  of  meeting  some  Mexican 
with  whom  he  could  deal,  and  I  went  down  to  the 
saloon  to  see  what  I  could  do  in  the  same  direc- 
tion. I  found  a  large  number  of  miners  and  settlers 
engaged  in  a  political  meeting.  A  popular  lawyer 
was  making  a  great  speech  on  Popular  Sovereignty. 

I  stood  in  the  doorway  a  little  while,  noting  the 
strange  proceedings  of  the  strange  men  in  the  strange 
land,  till  I  saw  my  Indian  leading  a  horse  trium- 
phantly out  of  town,  then  turned,  mounted  the  other 
horse,  and  followed  at  a  good  pace.  I  continued  to 
suffer  and  grow  weak.  It  was  evident  I  could  not 
keep  my  saddle  for  the  long  hard  ride,  now  necessary 
from  our  delay,  to  overtake  our  friends.  It  was  now 
absolutely  necessary  that  we,  or  at  least  one  of  us, 
should  overtake  the  Indians  in  charge  of  the  supplies 
before  dawn,  for  we  knew  they  would  refuse  to  go 
forward  till  they  saw  that  we  too  were  safe. 

It  was  finally  decided  that  when  we  struck  the 
stage   road   I   should   attempt   to   make  the  Indian 


OF  PEACE.  371 

camp  at  the  foot  of  the  high  backbone  mountains  of 
the  McCloud,  about  twenty-five  miles  distant,  and 
there  remain  till  recovered,  while  the  Indian  pushed 
on.  When  we  came  to  separate,  the  kind-hearted 
Indian  gave  me  the  fresher  and  stronger  horse, 
mounted  his  own  tired  and  bruised  mustang,  and 
rode  away  in  the  dark  and  dust  at  a  gallop. 

What  a  night  I  had  of  it !  It  grew  chill  towards 
morning,  and  I  could  not  straighten  myself  in  my 
saddle.  Night  birds  screamed  wickedly  in  my  ears, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  almost  finished  my 
last  desperate  ride  in  the  mountains. 

At  dawn,  after  slowly  threading  a  narrow  bushy 
trail,  around  mountains  and  over  gorges,  I  came 
down  to  the  deep  and  dark  blue  river. 

An  Indian  set  me  across  in  a  wretched  old  boat, 
and  I  took  my  course  across  the  mountains  for  the 
McCloud.  There  were  some  few  miners  here,  and 
sometimes  I  would  meet  half-tame  Indians,  and  then 
half-wild  white  men. 

At  dusk  I  dismounted  at  the  Indian  camp,  more 
dead  than  alive,  and  turned  the  horse  out  on  the 
luxuriant  grass  of  the  narrow  valley.  I  had  no  occa- 
sion to  keep  him  now  for  here  the  trail  ended,  and  I 
could  use  him  no  further. 

I  did  not  like  the  look  of  things  here  altogether. 
The  Indians  mixed  too  much  with  the  whites.  They 
were  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other.     I  was  com- 


372  MY  MISSION 

pelled  to  spend  the  night  here,  however,  but  deter- 
mined to  go  on  over  the  high  mountain  the  following 
day,  on  foot,  to  Hubet  Klabul,  or  "  Place  of  Yellow 
Jackets,"  where  I  knew  more  noble  Indians  than 
these  would  receive  me. 

I  rose  in  great  pain  next  morning,  and  went  down 
to  the  brook  to  bathe  my  head.  While  leaning  over 
the  water,  my  pistol  slid  from  the  scabbard  into  the 
stream,  and  was  made  useless  till  it  could  be  taken 
to  pieces  and  cleaned.  I  went  back,  laid  down,  and 
was  waiting  for  an  Indian  woman  to  prepare  me 
some  breakfast,  when  I  saw  two  suspicious-looking, 
half-tame  Indians  coming  down  the  hill ;  then  three 
suspicious-looking  white  men,  with  the  muzzles 
of  their  rifles  levelled  at  my  head,  and  I  was  a 
prisoner. 

My  faithful  Indian  companion  of  the  night  before 
had  almost  cost  me  my  life  by  his  kindness.  We 
had  taken  the  saddle-horse  of  an  honest  settler,  then 
a  judge  of  the  Court  of  Sessions.  Some  strange  hand 
had  led  me  by  his  very  door  the  day  before,  and  I 
had  been  followed  in  my  slow  and  painful  flight. 

They  took  my  arms,  tied  me,  and  talked  very 
savagely.  I  said  in  a  low  tone  to  one  of  the  men 
who  stood  close  at  my  side,  "  Please  don't  hang  me, 
but  shoot  me.  That  will  be  easier  and  better  for  us 
all."  Maybe  it  was  my  boyish  face,  maybe  it  was 
some  secret  chord  in  his  heart  that  only  my  helpless- 


OF  PEACE.  373 

ness  could  touch ;  I  do  not  know  what  it  was,  but  he 
looked  at  me  with  a  gentleness  that  I  could  not  mis- 
take, and  I  knew  at  once  that  I  had  at  least  one 
friend  among  my  captors. 

I  soon  found  that  they  had  no  connection  with  the 
soldiers,  and  that  they  had  no  suspicion  as  to  who  I 
was.  This  was  a  great  relief,  and  by  the  time  we, 
began  to  return  I  began  to  see  a  possibility  of  escape. 
In  those  days  when  the  character  of  the  regular  army 
of  the  U.  S.  was  not  so  high  as  it  has  been  since  the 
Civil  War,  there  was  but  little  friendship  or  commu- 
nication between  the  citizen  and  the  soldier.  They 
never  came  together  if  it  could  be  avoided,  and  when 
they  did  they  were  as  oil  and  water. 

Soon  we  came  to  a  little  mountain  stream.  I  was 
feverish  and  thirsty,  and  asked  for  a  drink  of  water. 
One  of  the  men  filled  a  cup  and  raised  it  to  my  lips. 
I  could  not  take  hold  of  it,  for  I  was  bound  like  a 
felon  on  his  way  to  the  gallows.  I  did  not  touch  the 
water,  but  turned  away  my  head,  and  in  spite  of  all 
my  efforts  I  broke  down  utterly  and  burst  into  tears. 
The  men  looked  the  other  way  for  awhile,  and 
then  after  some  consultation  they  told  me  if  I  would 
promise  not  to  attempt  to  escape  they  would  unloose 
my  arms.  I  had  never  been  bound  before.  To  have 
the  spirit  of  an  eagle,  and  then  be  fettered  like  a 
felon !  That  is  crucifixion.  I  gave  them  my  word 
of  honor  to  not  attempt  to  escape,  and  they  took  it 
like  men  and  trusted  me  utterly. 


374  MY  MISSION  OF  PEACE. 

After  two  days  we  reached  Shasta  city.  I  could 
have  escaped  on  the  way.  I  could  have  dashed  down 
one  of  the  hundred  steep  and  bushy  mountain-sides 
from  the  trail  and  laughed  at  the  shots  that  would 
have  followed  ;  could  have  escaped  in  spite  of  my 
wounds  and  wasted  strength,  "but  I  had  made  a  solemn 
promise  to  men  who  were  humane  and  honourable, 
and  I  was  bound  to  keep  it  at  a  fearful  cost,  and  I 
knew  the  cost  at  the  time.  At  every  rugged  and 
bushy  pass  on  the  way  to  prison  I  fought  a  battle 
with  myself  against  a  reckless  and  impulsive  spirit 
that  almost  lifted  me  out  of  the  trail,  and  almost 
forced  me  to  dash  down  the  mountain  through  the 
chaparral  in  spite  of  my  resolution  and  my  promise. 

Let  us  pass  hurriedly  over  those  dreadful  events ; 
but  remember  I  kept  my  promise  like  a  man.  There 
are  a  thousand  things  you  will  condemn  and  denounce, 
but  if  you  endure  what  I  endured  to  keep  faith  with 
your  captors,  I  for  one  will  pronounce  you  not  wholly 
bad,  whatever  you  may  do. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

DEATH    OF    PAQTJITA. 

WAS  surrendered  to  the  sheriff  and  taken 
before  a  judge.  I  feared  an  investigation,  lest 
something  might  be  revealed  which  would 
connect  the  pale-faced  boy  in  black  with  the  long- 
haired renegade  living  with  the  Indians,  and  thus 
throw  me  into  the  hands  of  the  military,  which  I  had 
just  escaped. 

The  Prince  was  in  Nicaragua  battling  for  the  estab- 
lishment of  an  order  of  things  even  more  impossible 
than  my  Indian  Republic,  and  I  had  not  a  friend  with 
whom  I  dared  communicate.  I  pleaded  not  guilty, 
declined  an  examination,  and  was  taken  to  prison. 

And  what  a  prison !     A  box,  ten  feet  by  ten ;  a 

little  window  with  iron  grates  looking  to  the  east 

over  the  top  of  another  structure  that  clung  to  the 

steep  hill-side  on  which  the  rude  and  horrible  prison 

was  built.     A  mattress  on  the  floor ;  filth  and  vermin 

everywhere ;  not  a  chair,  not  a  drop  of  water  half  the 

time  ;  not  a  breath  of  air.     The  food  was  cold  refuse 

375 


376  DEA TE  OF  PA  Q  VITA. 

of  some  low  chop-house.  You  could  sometimes  see 
teeth-marks  in  the  soggy  biscuits.  Some  sovereign, 
no  doubt,  had  a  contract  for  feeding  the  prisoners, 
and  was  doing  well. 

Low-bred  and  half-read  lawyers  beset  me.  They 
would  tell  the  jailer  I  had  sent  for  them,  and  thus 
gain  admittance.  Somehow  they  thought  I  had  or 
could  obtain  money.  They  were  coarse,  insolent, 
and  persistent  in  their  efforts  to  get  into  the  secrets 
of  my  life.  At  last,  when  they  got  what  jewelry  and 
few  available  gold  pieces  I  had,  and  could  not  get 
my  secrets,  I  saw  them  no  more. 

If  the  treatment  I  received  at  the  hands  of  these 
wretches  is  a  fair  example,  then  here  is  a  wrong  that 
should  be  corrected,  for  a  prisoner,  let  him  be  never 
so  guilty,  has  more  to  fear  from  these  fellows  than 
from  his  judges. 

Many  people  visited  me,  but  they  could  not  remain 
long  in  the  wretched  pen;  and  as  I  would  never 
speak  to  them,  I  had  but  little  sympathy.  Some- 
times for  a  while  I  was  out  of  my  mind.  At  such 
times  I  would  write  strange,  wild  songs,  in  the  Indian 
tongue,  all  over  the  wooden  walls. 

At  length  the  kind  young  man  mentioned  at  my 
capture  came  with  a  young  lawyer  named  Hoi  brook. 
This  young  lawyer  was  a  gentleman,  kind-hearted  and 
intelligent.  After  a  few  visits  I  told  him  my  story 
with  perfect  confidence.     I  do  not  think  he  believed 


DEA  Til  OF  PA  Q  U1TA.  377 

it  altogether,  for  lie  now  insisted  on  putting  in  a  plea 
of  insanity.  I  scorned  to  do  this,  and  grew  indignant 
as  he  persisted.  He  never  betrayed  a  word  of  my 
history,  however,  and  went  on,  honestly,  no  doubt, 
making  up  his  case  to  prove  his  client  insane. 

Brave,  noble  Holbrook !  he  was  doing,  or  thought 
he  was  doing,  all  in  his  power  to  serve  his  client. 
This  man  became  a  brilliant  lawyer,  a  leading  spirit 
in  Idaho,  and  twice  represented  the  Territory  in 
Congress  with  distinction.  He  was  killed  in  the 
prime  of  manhood  in  a  hand-to-hand  encounter — a 
sort  of  duel. 

One  night,  as  I  lay  half-awake  in  the  steaming 
little  den,  I  heard  the  call  of  the  cahea,  or  night  bird, 
on  the  steep  hill-side  above  the  prison.  It  stopped, 
came  nearer,  called  again,  called  three  times,  retreated, 
called  thrice,  came  again  nearer,  and  called  as  at  first. 

I  sprang  to  the  window  and  answered  through  the 
bars,  till  I  heard  the  jailer  turn  in  his  bed,  where  he 
lay  in  a  large  room  into  which  my  cell  opened,  and 
then  I  was  silent.  But  ah,  how  glad !  All  night  I 
paced  eagerly  around  the  room,  trying  to  strengthen 
my  legs,  and  throwing  out  my  arms  to  harden  them 
for  action.  I  knew  my  friends  the  red  men  had 
followed  and  found  me.  Here  was  something  to  be 
done.  I  forgot  about  my  lawyers,  refused  my  food 
no  longer,  and  filled  my  head  with  plans. 

The  next  day  I  waited  for  night,  and  it  seemed  the 


378  DEATH  OF  PA Q  U1TA. 

sun  would  never  go  down.  Then  I  waited  for  mid- 
night ;  and  at  last  when  it  came,  and  no  call  from  the 
hill,  I  began  to  despair.  I  could  hardly  repress  my 
anxiety ;  my  heart  beat  and  beat  at  every  breath,  as 
if  it  would  burst.  After  all,  I  said  to  myself,  I  am 
really  insane. 

I  lay  down  with  my  face  to  the  low  window,  look- 
ing out  to  the  dim,  grey  dawn  breaking  and  flushing 
like  a  great  surf  over  the  white  wall  of  the  sierras  to 
the  east. 

Maybe  I  slept  an  instant,  for  there,  when  I  looked 
intently,  sat  Paquita  on  the  roof  of  the  lower  build- 
ing, peering  through  the  rusty  bars  right  into  my 
face. 

I  had  learned  the  virtue,  if  not  the  dignity,  of 
silence.     I  arose  instantly  and  stole  up  to  the  bars. 

The  poor  girl  tried,  the  first  thing,  to  pass  me  a 
pistol  through  the  bars,  as  if  that  could  have  been  of 
any  use  to  me  there ;  but  it  could  not  be  passed 
between.  Then  she  passed  through  a  thin  sheath 
knife,  but  never  said  a  word. 

She  made  signs  for  me  to  cut  away  the  bars  with 
the  knife,  that  she  would  come  and  help  me,  motioned 
to  the  grey  surf  breaking  against  the  sky  in  the  east, 
and  disappeared. 

I  hugged  that  knife  to  my  heart  as  if  it  had  been  a 
bride  come  home.  I  danced  mercilessly  and  Indian- 
like about  my  cell,  and  flourished  the  knife  above  my 


DEA Til  OF  PA  Q  VITA.  379 

head.  I  was  now  not  so  helpless.  I  was  not  alone. 
This  knife  was  more  to  me  than  all  the  lawyers. 

I  will  kill  that  dreadful  jailer  with  this  knife  some 
night  when  he  comes  in  with  my  supper,  I  said,  pass 
out,  slip  into  town,  mount  a  horse  and  escape  to  the 
mountains.  I  lay  down  at  last,  hid  the  knife  in  my 
bosom,  and  hugged  it  till  I  fell  asleep. 

Paquita  came  early  the  next  night.  Indians  are 
too  cunning  to  come  twice  at  the  same  hour. 

I  had  done  nothing  all  day.  This  time  she  spoke 
and  told  me  that  the  bars,  must  be  filed  and  cut 
away,  that  this  was  now  the  only  hope,  since  all 
other  attempts  of  hers  had  failed.  An  Indian  war- 
rior was  waiting,  she  said,  with  horses  out  of  town ; 
only  get  the  bars  away  and  we  could  almost  step 
from  the  house-top  to  the  steep  hill-side,  and  then  all 
would  be  well. 

She  had  hacked  two  thin  knives  together,  making 
a  kind  of  saw,  and  we  set  to  work.  The  bars  were 
an  inch  in  diameter,  but  made  of  soft  iron,  and  the 
knife-blades  laid  hold  like  vipers. 

At  dawn  she  filled  up  the  little  gashes  we  had  cut 
across  the  bars  with  a  substance  she  had  prepared 
just  the  colour  of  the  rusty  bars,  and  again  disap- 
peared. 

For  more  than  a  week  we  kept  at  this  work.  No 
one  passed  on  the  brushy  hill-side  or  dwelt  there,  and 
we  were  never  disturbed.     At  last  three  bars  were 


380  DEATH  OF  PA  Q  VITA. 

loosened,  and  on  Saturday  night,  when,  as  was  then 
the  custom,  the  men  of  the  city,  officers  and  all,  would 
be  more  or  less  in  their  glasses,  our  time  was  set  for 
the  escape. 

She  came  about  midnight,  the  true  and  faithful 
little  savage,  the  heroine,  the  red  star  of  my  stormy 
life,  crouching  on  the  roof,  and  laid  hold  of  the  bars 
one  by  one,  and  bent  them  till  I  could  pass  my  head 
and  shoulders.  Then  she  drew  me  through,  almost 
carried  me  in  her  arms,  and  in  another  moment  we 
touched  the  steep  but  solid  earth. 

She  hurried  me  up  the  hill-side  to  the  edge  of  a 
thicket  of  chaparral.  I  could  go  no  further.  I  fell 
upon  my  knees  and  clasped  my  hands.  I  bent  down 
my  face  and  kissed  and  kissed  the  earth  as  you  would 
kiss  a  sister  you  had  not  seen  for  years.  I  arose  and 
clasped  the  bushes  in  my  arms,  and  stripped  the  fra- 
grant myrtle-leaves  by  handfuls.  I  kissed  my  hands 
to  the  moon,  the  stars,  and  began  to  shout  and  leap 
like  a  child. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  my  mouth,  and  almost  angrily 
seized  me  by  the  arm.  I  turned  and  I  kissed  her,  or 
rather  only  the  presence  and  touch  of  her.  I  lifted 
her  fingers  to  my  lips,  her  robe,  her  hair,  as  she  led 
me  over  the  hill,  around  and  down  to  a  trail.  There, 
in  answer  to  the  night-bird  call,  an  Indian,  a  brave, 
reckless  fellow,  who  had  been  with  me  in  many  a 
bold  adventure,  led  three  horses  from  a  thicket. 


DEA  TJI  OF  PA  Q  VITA.  381 

The  tide  was  coming  in  again.  The  great  grey- 
surf  was  breaking  over  the  wail  of  the  Sierras  in  the 
east.  They  lifted  me  to  my  saddle,  for  I  was  as 
weak  as  a  child.  We  turned  our  steeds'  heads ;  we 
plunged  away  in  the  swift,  sweet  morning  air,  and 
as  we  climbed  a  hill  and  left  the  town  behind,  I 
looked  across  my  shoulder,  and  threw  a  bitter  curse 
and  threat  .... 

But  the  prison  only  was  burned.  The  town,  Shasta 
city,  stands  almost  a  ruin.  The  great  men  who  made 
it  great  in  early  days  have  gone  away.  Chinamen 
and  negroes  possess  the  once  crowded  streets,  bats 
flit  in  and  out  through  broken  panes,  and  birds  build 
nests  there  in  houses  that  are  falling  to  decay.  The 
city  of  twenty  years  ago  looks  as  though  it  had  felt 
the  touch  of  centuries. 

How  grandly  the  old  eternal  snow  peak  lifted  his 
front  before  us !  How  gloriously  the  sunlight  rolled 
and  flashed  about  his  brow  before  its  rays  got  down 
into  the  pines  that  lay  along  our  road. 

We  plunged  into  the  Sacramento  river  at  full 
speed,  and  swam  to  the  other  side. 

When  you  swim  a  river  with  a  horse,  you  must 
not  touch  the  rein ;  that  may  draw  his  nose  into  the 
water,  and  drown  you  both.  You  drop  the  rein, 
clutch  the  mane,  and  float  free  of  his  back,  even 
using  your  own  limbs,  if  strong  enough,  to  aid  your 
horse  in  the  passage.     You  wind  a  sash  tightly  about 


382  DEATH  OF  PA  Q  VITA. 

your  head  or  hat,  and  thrust  your  pistols  in  the  folds. 
Keep  your  head  above  water,  and  you  are  ready  to 
fight  the  moment  you  touch  land  on  the  other  side. 

As  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  shot  across  the  mighty 
ramparts  to  the  east,  we  climbed  the  rocky  bluff  and 
set  our  course  through  the  open  oaks  for  a  crossing 
on  Pit  Kiver,  not  far  from  the  military  camp  spoken 
of  before.  We  hoped  to  reach  it  and  cross  ere  dark, 
and  rode  like  furies.  Where  did  the  Indian  get  these 
horses  ? 

The  escape  so  far  was  a  success.  At  first  I  had 
had  no  hope.  The  idea  of  cutting  away  iron  bars 
with  knives  seemed  a  delusive  dream.  But  Indian 
patience  can  achieve  incredible  things.  At  first  the 
knives  would  pinch  and  bite  in  the  little  grooves,  for 
the  back  was  of  course  thicker  than  the  edge.  But 
Paquita  was  equal  to  all  that.  By  day  she  would 
grind  the  knives  on  the  rocks,  while  hiding  away  in 
the  bushes,  till  they  were  thin  as  wafers.  A  watch- 
spring  is  a  common  instrument  used  to  cut  away 
bars  or  rivets.  The  fine  steel  lays  hold  of  the  iron 
like  teeth.  Mexican  revolutionists,  liable  at  any 
time  to  imprisonment,  sometimes  have  their  watch- 
springs  prepared  especially  for  such  an  emergency; 
and  I  have  known  common  cut-throats  on  the  border 
to  have  a  watch-spring  around  the  arm  under  the 
folds  of  a  garment.  Prison-breaking  in  the  Old 
World,    owing     to     the    massive    and    substantial 


DEA  Til  OF  PA  Q  VITA.  383 

structures,  is  almost  a  lost  art.  "  But  few  escapes  are 
made  now,"  said  a  Newgate  prisoner  to  me,  "  and 
those  are  mostly  by  strategy,  like  that  of  the  illus- 
trious prisoner  of  Ham." 

It  was  nearly  dusk  when  we  touched  the  bank  of 
the  river,  up  which  we  must  ride  a  mile  or  so  before 
we  came  to  the  crossing. 

Our  horses  fairly  staggered  under  us,  but  we  kept 
on,  full  of  hope,  and  certain  of  security. 

We  descended  the  hill  that  sloped  to  the  crossing, 
winding  our  scarfs  about  our  heads,  and  preparing 
for  the  passage,  which,  once  accomplished,  would 
make  our  rest  secure. 

Suddenly,  from  a  clump  of  low  fir-trees,  an  officer 
with  a  platoon  of  soldiers  stepped  out,  with  rifles  to 
their  faces,  and  called  to  us  to  surrender. 

The  soldiers  were  there  concealed,  waiting  for 
Indians  that  might  attempt  to  cross  at  this  favourite 
pass,  and  we  were  upon  them  before  we  suspected  an 
enemy  within  miles  of  us. 

They  were  almost  between  us  and  the  deep  cut 
leading  to  the  river  that  had  been  made  by  animals 
and  Indians  from  time  immemorial,  and  we  could  not 
reach  it.  To  attempt  to  ascend  the  hill,  up  the  trail, 
on  our  tired  horses,  had  been  certain  death. 

The  officer  called  as;ain.  The  Indian  drew  his 
pistol,  called  to  us  to  leap  our  horses  down  the  bank 
into  the  river,  and  as  we  did  so,  fired  in  the  face  of 


384  DEA  TE  OF  PA  Q  HIT  A. 

the  officer.  Then,  with  a  yell  of  defiance,  he  followed 
us  over  the  precipice  into  the  boiling,  surging  river, 
cold  and  swollen  from  the  melting  snows  of  Mount 
Shasta. 

It  was  a  fearful  leap;  not  far,  but  sudden  and 
ugly,  with  everything  on  earth  against  us.  My  horse 
and  myself  went  far  down  in  the  blue,  cold  river,  but 
he  rose  bravely,  and  struck  out  fairly  for  the  other 
side. 

But  poor  Paquita  and  her  brave  companion  were 
not  so  fortunate.  The  river  ran  in  an  eddy,  and  their 
weak  and  bewildered  horses  w^ere  spun  around  like 
burrs  in  a  whirlpool. 

The  soldiers  had  discharged  a  volley  as  we  disap- 
peared, but  I  think  none  of  us  were  touched  from 
this  first  fire.  My  horse  swam  very  slow,  and  dropped 
far  down  the  current.  The  soldiers  came  up,  stood 
on  the  bank,  deliberately  loaded,  aimed  their  pieces, 
and  fired  every  shot  of  the  platoon  at  me,  but  only 
touched  my  horse.  They  had  not  yet  discovered 
Paquita  and  her  companion  struggling  in  the  eddy, 
almost  under  their  feet,  else  neither  of  them  had  ever 
left  it.  Now,  they  got  their  horses  turned  and  struck 
out,  diving  and  holding  on  to  the  mane. 

They  were  not  forty  feet  from  the  soldiers  when 
discovered.  The  guns  were  dropped,  pistols  were 
drawn,  and  a  hundred  shots,  and  still  another  hun- 
dred, rained  down  upon  and  around  those  two  brave 
children,  but  they  gave  no  answer. 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE 


DEA Til  OF  PA  Q  UITA.  385 

I  was  down  the  stream  out  of  reach,  and  nearing 
the  shore.  I  witnessed  the  dreadful  struggle  for  life, 
looking  back,  clinging  to  my  almost  helpless  horse's 
mane. 

They  would  dive,  then  the  black  heads  and  shiny 
shoulders  would  reappear,  a  volley  of  shot,  down 
again  till  almost  stifled;  up,  again  a  volley,  and 
shouts  and  laughter  from  the  shore. 

It  seemed  they  would  never  get  away  from  out  the 
rain  of  lead.  Slowly,  oh !  how  slowly,  their  weary, 
wounded  horses  struggled  on  against  the  cold,  blue 
flood  that  boiled  and  swept  about  them. 

At  last  my  spent  horse  touched  a  reach  of  sand 
far  below,  that  made  a  shoal  from  shore,  and  I 
again  looked  back.  I  saw  but  one  figure  now.  The 
brave  and  fearless  warrior  had  gone  down  pierced  by 
a  dozen  balls. 

My  horse  refused  to  go  further,  but  stood  bleeding 
and  trembling  in  the  water  up  to  his  breast,  and  I 
managed  to  make  land  alone.  I  crept  up  the  bank, 
clutching  the  long  wiry  grass  and  water-plants. 
I  drew  myself  up  and  sat  down  on  the  rocks  still 
warm  from  the  vanished  sunshine. 

When  I  had  strength  to  rise,  I  went  up  the  warm 
grassy  river-bank,  peering  through  the  tules  in  an 
almost  hopeless  search  for  my  companions.  Nothing 
was  to  be  seen.  The  troops  on  the  other  bank  had 
gone  away,  not  knowing,  perhaps  not  caring,  what 
they  had  done. 


386  DEATH  OF  PA Q  VITA. 

The  deep,  "blue  river  gave  no  sign  of  the  tragedy 
now.  All  was  as  still  as  the  tomb.  I  stole  close  and 
slowly  along  the  bank.  I  felt  a  desolation  that  was 
new  and  dreadful  in  its  awful  solemnity.  The  bluff 
of  the  river  hung  in  basaltic  columns  a  thousand  feet 
above  my  head ;  only  a  narrow  little  strip  of  grass 
and  tules,  and  reeds  and  willows,  nodding,  dipping, 
dripping,  in  the  swift,  strong  river. 

Not  a  bird  flew  over,  not  a  cricket  called  from  out 
the  long  grass.  "  Ah,  what  an  ending  is  this ! "  I 
said,  and  sat  down  in  despair.  My  eyes  were  riveted 
on  the  river.  Up  and  down  on  the  other  side,  every- 
where I  scanned  with  Indian  eyes  for  even  a  sign  of 
life,  for  friend  or  foe.  Nothing  but  the  bubble  and 
gurgle  of  the  waters,  the  nodding,  dipping,  dripping 
of  the  reeds,  the  willows,  and  the  tules. 

If  earth  has  any  place  more  solemn,  more  solitary, 
more  awful  than  the  banks  of  a  strong,  deep  river 
rushing,  at  nightfall,  through  a  mountain  forest, 
where  even  the  birds  have  forgotten  to  sing,  or  the 
katydid  to  call  from  the  grass,  I  know  not  where 
it  is. 

I  stole  further  up  the  bank ;  and  there,  almost  at 
my  feet,  a  little  face  was  lifted  as  if  rising  from  the 
water  into  mine. 

Blood  was  flowing  from  her  mouth  and  she  could 
not  speak.  Her  naked  arms  were  reached  out  and 
holding  on  to  the   grassy  bank,  but  she   could  not 


DEA  TE  OF  PA  Q  UITA.  387 

draw  her  body  from  the  water.  I  put  my  arms 
about  her,  and,  with  sudden  and  singular  strength, 
lifted  her  up  and  back  to  some  warm,  dry  rocks,  and 
there  sat  down  with  the  dying  girl  in  my  arm's. 

Her  robe  had  floated  away  in  the  flood  and  she  was 
nearly  naked.  She  was  bleeding  from  many  wounds. 
Her  whole  body  seemed  to  be  covered  with  blood  as 
I  drew  her  from  the  water.  Blood  spreads  with  water 
over  a  warm  body  in  streams  and  seams ;  and  at  such 
a  time  a  body  seems  to  be  covered  with  a  sheet  of 
crimson. 

Paquita  ? 

I  entreated  her  to  speak.  I  called  to  her,  but  she 
could  not  answer.  The  desolation  and  solitude  was 
now  only  the  more  dreadful.  My  voice  came  back 
in  strange  echoes  from  the  basalt  bluffs,  and  that  was 
all  the  answer  I  ever  had. 

The  Indian  maiden,  pure  as  vestal  virgin,  brave  as 
was  Lucretia,  beautiful  as  any  picture  lay  dying  in  my 
arms.  Blood  on  my  hands,  blood  on  my  clothes, 
and  blood  on  the  grass  and  stones. 

The  lonely  July  night  was  soft  and  sultry.  The 
great  white  moon  rose  up  and  rolled  along  the 
heavens,  and  sifted  through  the  boughs  that  lifted 
above  and  reached  from  the  hanging  cliff,  and  fell  in 
lines  and  spangles  across  the  face  and  form  of  my 
dead. 

Paquita ! 


388  DEA TR  OF  PA  Q  UITA. 

Once  so  alone  in  the  awful  presence  of  death,  I 
became  terrified.  My  heart  and  soul  were  strung  to 
such  a  tension,  it  became  intolerable.  I  would 
have  started  up  and  fled.  But  where  could  I  have 
fled,  even  had  I  had  the  strength  to  fly  ?  I  bent  my 
head,  and  tried  to  hide  my  face. 

Paquita  dead ! 

Our  lives  had  first  run  together  in  currents  of 
blood  on  the  snow,  in  persecution,  ruin,  and  de- 
struction ;  in  the  shadows  and  in  the  desolation  of 
death ;  and  so  now  they  separated  for  ever. 

Paquita  dead  ! 

We  had  starved  together ;  stood  by  the  sounding 
cataracts,  threaded  the  forests,  roamed  by  the  river- 
banks  together;  grown  from  childhood,  as  it  were, 
together.  But  now  she  had  gone  away,  crossed  the 
dark  and  mystic  river  alone,  and  left  me  to  make 
the  rest  of  the  journey  with  strangers  and  without  a, 
friend. 

Paquita ! 

Why,  we  had  watched  the  great  sun  land,  like  some 
mighty  navigator  sailing  the  blue  seas  of  heaven, 
on  the  flashing  summit  of  Shasta ;  had  seen  him  come 
with  lifted  sword  and  shield,  and  take  possession  of 
the  continent  of  darkness ;  had  watched  him  in  the 
twilight  marshal  his  forces  there  for  the  last  great 
struggle  with  the  shadows,  creeping  like  evil  spirits 
through  the  woods,  and,  like  the  red  man,  make  a 


DEATH  OF  PA Q  VITA.  389 

last  grand  battle  there  for  his  old  dominions.  We 
had  seen  him  fall  and  die  at  last  with  all  the  snow- 
peak  crimsoned  in  his  blood. 

No  more  now.  Paquita,  the  child  of  nature, 
the  sunbeam  of  the  forest,  the  star  that  had  seen 
so  little  of  light,  lay  wrapped  in  darkness.  Paquita 
lay  cold  and  lifeless  in  my  arms. 

That  night  my  life  widened  and  widened  away 
till  it  touched  and  took  in  the  shores  of  death. 


mm 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE   LAST   BATTLE   FOE   THE   KEPUBLIC. 

'ENDERLY   at   last   I   laid  her  down,  and 
moved  about.     Glad  of  something  to  do,  I 
gathered  fallen  branches,  decayed  wood,  and 
dry,  dead  reeds,  and  built  a  ready  pyre. 

I  struck  flints  together,  made  a  fire,  and  when  the 
surf  of  light  again  broke  in  across  the  eastern  wall,  I 
lifted  her  up,  laid  her  tenderly  on  the  pile,  composed 
her  face  and  laid  her  little  hands  across  her  breast. 

I  lighted  the  grass  and  tules.  The  fire  took  hold 
and  leaped  and  laughed,  and  crackled,  and  reached, 
as  if  to  touch  the  solemn  boughs  that  bent  and  waved 
from  the  cliffs  above,  as  bending  and  looking  into  a 
grave.  I  gathered  white  stones  and  laid  a  circle 
around  the  embers.  How  rank  and  tall  the  grass  is 
growing  above  her  ashes  now !  The  stones  have 
settled  and  settled  till  almost  sunk  in  the  earth,  but 
this  girl  is  not  forgotten.  This  is  the  monument  I 
raise  above  her  ashes  and  her  faithful  life.  I  have 
written  this  that  she  shall  be  remembered,  and  prop- 
erly this  narrative  should  here  have  an  end. 

390 


TIIK  FUNERAL  OF  PAQUITA. 


LAST  BATTLE  FOE  THE  REP  UBLIC.     391 

The  "  Tale  of  the  Tall  Alcalde/'  which  men  assert 
on  their  own  authority  to  be  a  true  story  of  my  life 
here  and  her  death,  was  written  for  her.  I  could  not 
then  make  it  literally  true,  because  the  events  were 
too  new  in  my  mind.  It  had  been  like  opening 
wounds  not  yet  half  healed.  I  was  then  a  judge  in 
the  northern  part  of  Oregon.  I  had,  with  one  law 
book  and  two  six-shooters,  administered  justice  suc- 
cessfully for  four  years,  and  was  then  an  aspirant  for 
a  seat  on  the  Supreme  Bench  of  the  State.  Men  who 
had  some  vague  knowledge  of  my  life  with  the  In- 
dians were  seeking  to  get  at  the  secrets  of  it  and 
accomplish  my  destruction.  I  wrote  that  poem,  and 
took  upon  myself  all  the  contumely,  real  or  fancied, 
that  could  follow  such  an  admission. 

At  sunrise  I  began  to  make  my  way  slowly  up  the 
river,  towards  the  Indian  camp,  which  I  knew  was 
not  more  than  a  day's  journey  away.  I  ate  berries 
and  roots  as  I  could  find  them  in  my  way,  and  at 
night  I  entered  the  village  and  sat  down  by  the  door 
of  a  lodge 

An  old  woman  brought  me  water,  but  she  could 
not  restrain  her  eagerness  to  know  of  my  companions, 
and  at  once  broke  the  accustomed  silence. 

"UtiPaquita?     UtiOlale?" 

I  pointed  my  thumbs  to  the  earth. 

She  threw  up  her  arms  and  turned  away.  The 
camp  was  a  camp  of  mourning,  for  nothing  but  defeat 


392  TEE  LAST  BATTLE 

and  disaster  had  followed  them  all  the  summer.  Still 
they  would  mourn  for  Paquita  and  the  brave  young 
warrior,  and  they  went  up  to  the  hill-top  among  the 
pines  and  filled  the  woods  with  lamentations. 

Let  us  hasten  to  the  conclusion  of  these  unhappy 
days.  I  rested  a  little  while,  then  took  part  in  a 
skirmish,  captured  a  few  cavalry  horses,  and  two 
prisoners,  whose  lives  I  managed  to  save  at  the  risk 
of  my  own,  for  the  Indians  w^ere  now  made  desperate. 
The  Indians  were  now  doing  what  little  fighting  was 
done,  entirely  with  arrows. 

The  Modoc  Indians  had  exhausted  all  their  arrows 
and  were  returning  home.  A  general  despondency 
was  upon  the  Indians.  No  supplies  whatever  for  the 
approaching  winter  had  been  secured.  The  Indians 
had  been  kept  back  from  the  fisheries  on  the  rivers 
and  the  hunting  grounds  in  the  valleys.  The  Indian 
men  had  been  losing  time  in  war  and  the  Indian 
women  in  making  arrows  and  nursing  the  wounded. 
Even  in  the  plentiful  season  of  early  autumn  a  famine 
was  looking  them  in  the  face. 

No  gentleness  marked  our  actions  now ;  I  did  not 
restrain  my  Indians  in  any  ruthless  thing  they  under- 
took short  of  taking  the  lives  of  prisoners. 

I  made  a  hurried  ride  through  the  Modoc  plains 
around  Tula  lake  and  saw  there  but  little  hope  of 
continuing  a  successful  struggle  as  it  was  then  being 
conducted.     Lieutenant    Crook,    now    the    General 


,  FOR  TEE  REPUBLIC.  393 

Crook  famous  in  American  history,  had  established  a 
military  post  on  the-  head-lakes  of  Pit  river.  This 
was  in  the  heart  of  the  Indian  country,  and  almost 
on  the  spot  where  the  three  corners  of  the  lands  of 
the  three  tribes  met,  and  he  could  from  this  point 
reach  the  principal  valleys  and  the  great  eastern 
plains  of  the  Indians  with  but  little  trouble. 

A  new  and  most  desperate  undertaking  now  entered 
my  mind.  It  was  impossible  to  dislodge  the  military 
from  the  Indian  country  as  things  then  stood.  I 
resolved  to  "  carry  the  war  into  Africa." 

I  laid  my  plan  before  the  Modocs,  and  they,  poor 
devils,  made  desperate  with  the  long  and  wasting 
struggle,  were  mad  with  delight. 

It  was  resolved  to  gather  the  Indian  forces  together, 
send  the  women  and  children  into  the  caves  to  hide 
and  subsist  as  best  they  could,  leave  our  own  homes, 
and  then  boldly  descend  upon  the  white  settlements. 
This  we  were  certain  would  draw  the  enemy,  for  a 
time  at  least,  from  our  country. 

I  never  witnessed  such  enthusiasm.  These  battle- 
scarred,  worn-out,  ragged,  half-starved  Indians  arose 
under  the  thought  of  the  enterprise  as  if  touched  by 
inspiration. 

I  was  to  go  down  to  Yreka,  note  the  approaches 
to  the  town,  the  probable  strength  of  the  place,  the 
proper  time  to  attack,  while  they  gathered  their 
forces  together  for  the  campaign  and  disposed  of  the 
women  and  children. 


394  THE  LAST  BATTLE 

The  attack  was  to  be  made  on  the  city  itself. 
There  we  were  to  strike  the  first  blow.  The  plan 
was  to  move  the  whole  available  Indian  force  to  the 
edge  of  the  settlement  and  there  leave  the  main 
body.  Then  I  was  to  take  the  flower  of  the  force, 
mounted  on  the  swiftest  horses,  and,  descending  upon 
the  town  suddenly,  attack,  sack,  and  burn  it  to  the 
ground. 

We  had  had  many  a  lesson  in  this  mode  of  warfare 
from  the  whites  and  knew  perfectly  well  how  the 
work  was  to  be  done. 

I  mounted  a  strong,  fleet  horse  and  set  out.  On 
reaching  the  mountain's  rim  overlooking  the  valley  I 
was  struck  by  the  peaceful  scene  below  me.  All 
the  fertile  plain  was  dotted  yellow,  and  brown,  and 
green  from  fields  of  grain.  It  looked  like  some 
great  map.  Peace  and  plenty  all  the  way  across  the 
valley  to  the  city  lying  on  the  other  side,  and  thirty 
miles  ahead. 

At  dusk  I  came  to  a  quiet  farm-house  and  asked 
for  hospitality. 

The  old  settler  came  bustling  out  bare-headed  and 
in  his  shirt- sleeves,  as  if  he  was  coming  to  welcome 
a  son. 

He  took  care  of  my  horse,  hurried  me  into  the 
house,  hurried  his  good  wife  about  the  kitchen,  and 
I  soon  was  seated  at  the  table  of  a  Christian  eating  a 
Christian  meal. 


FOR  THE  REP  UBLIC.  395 

It  was  the  first  for  a  long,  long  time;  I  fell  to 
thinking  as  of  old,  and  held  down  my  head. 

After  supper  the  old  man  sat  and  talked  of  his 
cattle  and  his  crops  and  the  two  children  climbed 
about  my  knees. 

No  sign  of  war  here.  Not  a  hundred  miles  away 
a  people  all  summer  had  been  battling  for  their  fire- 
sides, for  existence,  and  yet  it  had  been  hardly  felt 
in  the  settlements.  Such  is  the  effect  of  the  quiet, 
steady,  eternal  warfare  on  the  border.  It  is  never 
felt,  never  hardly  heard  of,  till  the  Indians  become 
the  aggressors  which  is  seldom  indeed. 

The  old  lady  came  at  last  and  sat  down  with  her 
knitting  and  a  ball  of  yarn  in  her  lap.  She  talked 
of  the  price  of  butter  and  eggs,  and  said  they  should 
soon  be  well-to-do  and  prosperous  in  their  new 
home. 

I  retired  early,  and  rising  with  the  dawn,  left  a 
gold  coin  on  the  table,  and  rode  rapidly  toward  the 
city. 

I  was  not  satisfied  with  my  desperate  and  bloody 
undertaking.  As  I  passed  little  farm-houses  with 
vines  and  blossoms  and  children  about  the  doors,  I 
began  to  wonder  how  many  kind  and  honest  people 
were  to  be  ruined  in  my  descent  upon  the  settle- 
ments. 

The  city  I  found  assailable  from  every  side.  There 
was  not  a  soldier  within  ten  miles.     Fifty  men  could 


396  THE  LAST  BA TTLE 

ride  into  the  place,  hold  it  long  enough  to  fire  it  in 
a  hundred  places,  and  then  ride  out  unhindered. 

It  seems  a  little  strange  that  I  met  kindness  and 
civility  now  when  I  did  not  want  it.  Of  course  I 
was  utterly  unknown,  and  having  taken  care  from 
the  first  to  dress  in  the  plainest  and  commonest  dress 
of  the  time,  there  was  not  the  least  suspicion  of  my 
name  or  mission. 

As  I  rode  back,  the  farmers  were  gathering  in  their 
grain.  On  the  low  marshy  plains  of  Shasta  river 
they  were  mowing  and  making  hay.  I  heard  the 
mowers  whetting  their  scythes  and  the  clear  ringing 
melody  came  to  me  full  of  memories  and  stories  of 
my  childhood. 

I  passed  close  to  some  of  these  broad-shouldered 
merry  men,  as  they  sat  on  the  grass  at  lunch,  and 
they  called  to  me  kindly  to  stop  and  rest  and  share 
their  meal.  It  was  like  merry  hay-making  of  the 
Old  World.  All  peace,  merriment  and  prosperity 
here;  out  yonder,  burning  camps,  starving  children, 
and  mourning  mothers;  and  only  a  hundred  miles 
away. 

I  did  not  again  enter  a  house  or  partake  of  hospi- 
tality. I  slept  on  the  wild  grass  that  night,  and  in 
another  day  rode  into  the  camp  where  the  Indians 
had  gathered  in  such  force  as  they  could  to  await  my 
action. 

A  council  was  called,  and  I  told  them  all.     I  told 


FOR  THE  REPUBLIC.  397 

them  it  was  possible  to  take  the  city,  that  my  plan 
was  feasible,  and  yet  I  could  not  lead  them  where 
women  and  children  and  old  men  and  honest  labour- 
ers would  be  ruined,  and  perish  alike  with  the 
arrogant  and  cruel  destroyers.  An  old  man  answered 
me;  his  women,  his  children,  his  old  father,  his 
lodges,  his  horses  had  all  been  swept  away ;  it  was 
now  time  to  be  revenged  and  then  to  die. 

Never  have  I  been  placed  in  so  critical  a  position, 
never  have  I  been  so  crucified  between  two  plans  of 
life.  But  I  had  said  when  I  climbed  the  mountain 
and  looked  back  on  the  green  and  yellow  fields  and 
peaceful  farm-houses  below,  that  I  would  not  lead 
my  allies  there,  come  what  might,  and  I  doggedly 
kept  my  promise  through  all  the  stormy  council  of 
that  long  and  unhappy  night. 

Time  has  shown  that  I  was  wrong ;  I  should  have 
taken  that  city  and  held  on,  and  kept  up  an  aggres- 
sive warfare  till  the  Government  came  to  terms,  and 
recognized  the  rights  of  this  people. 

I  rode  south  with  my  warriors,  and  we  gathered  in 
diminished  force  on  a  plateau  not  far  from  Pit  Kiver, 
and  prepared  to  make  another  fight. 

If  there  is  a  race  of  men  that  has  the  gift  of 
prophecy  or  prescience  I  think  it  is  the  Indian.  It 
may  be  a  keen  instinct  sharpened  by  meditation  that 
makes  them  foretell  many  things  with  such  precision ; 
but  I  have  seen  some  things  that  looked  much  like 
the  fulfilment  of  prophecies. 


398  THE  LAST  BA  TTLE 

They  believe  in  the  gift  of  prophecy  thoroughly 
and  are  never  without  their  seers.  Besides  the  war- 
riors are  constantly  foretelling  their  own  fate.  A  dis- 
tinguished warrior  rarely  goes  into  battle  without 
telling  what  he  will  do,  whom  he  w411  encounter,  who 
will  be  killed,  and  how  the  battle  will  be  determined. 
They  often  foretell  their  own  deaths  with  a  singular 
accuracy.  They  believe  in  signs  of  all  kinds :  signs 
in  the  heavens,  signs  in  the  woods,  on  the  waters,  any- 
where ;  and  a  chief  will  sometimes  suddenly,  in  the 
midst  of  battle,  call  off  his  warriors  even  when  about 
to  reap  a  victory,  should  a  sign  inauspicious  appear. 

Klamat,  shadowy,  mysterious,  dark-browed  little 
Klamat,  now  a  tall  and  sinewy  warrior,  was  strangely 
thoughtful  all  this  time.  He  went  about  his  duties 
as  in  a  dream,  but  he  left  no  duty  unperformed.  He 
prepared  his  arms  and  all  things  for  the  approaching 
battle  with  the  utmost  care.  He  bared  his  limbs 
and  breast  and  painted  them  red,  and  bound  up  his 
hair  in  a  flowing  tuft  with  eagle  feathers  pointing 
up  from  the  defiant  scalp-lock. 

At  last  he  painted  his  face  in  mourning.  That 
means  a  great  deal.  When  a  warrior  paints  his  face 
black  it  means  victory  or  death.  When  a  warrior 
paints  his  face  black  before  going  into  battle  he  does 
not  survive  a  defeat.  It  is  rarely  done,  but  an 
Indian  is  greatly  honoured  who  goes  to  this  extreme, 
and  when  he  goes  out  to  battle  the  women  sit  on 


KLAMAT'S  PROPHECY. 


FOR  THE  REPUBLIC.  399 

the  hills  above  the  war-path  and  sing  a  battle  song 
with  his  name  in  a  kind  of  chorus,  calling  their  deity 
to  witness  his  valour  to  defend  him  in  battle,  and 
bring  him  back  victorious. 

I  was  standing  down  by  the  river  alone,  waiting 
and  looking  in  the  water,  when  he  came  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  my  shoulder.  He  had  his  rifle  in  his 
other  hand  and  his  knife,  tomahawk,  and  pistol  in  his 
belt.  He  looked  wild  and  fierce.  He  scarcely  spoke 
above  a  whisper. 

"  I  will  not  come  back,"  he  began,  "  I  have  seen  the 
signs,  and  I  shall  not  come  back.  It  is  all  right,  I 
am  going  to  die  like  a  chief.  To-morrow  I  will  be 
with  my  people  on  the  other  side  of  darkness. 
They  will  meet  me  on  my  way,  for  I  have  had  their 
revenge." 

He  looked  at  me  sharp  and  sudden,  and  his  black 
eyes  shot  fire.  He  lifted  his  hand  high  above  his 
head  and  twirled  it  around  as  if  shaping  a  beaver 
hat.  His  eyes  danced  with  a  fierce  delight  as  he 
hissed  between  his  teeth, 

"The  Judge!  Spades!" 

He  struck  out  savagely,  as  if  striking  with  a  knife  ; 
as  if  these  men  stood  before  him,  and  then  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  own  breast. 

Great  Heavens  !  I  said  to  myself,  as  he  shouldered 
his  rifle  and  joined  his  comrades,  and  it  was  this  boy 
that  killed  them.     The  Doctor  and  the  Prince  had 


400  TEE  LAST  BA  TTLE 

understood  this  all  the  time  and  could  not  trust  me 
with  the  secret.  They  had  borne  the  peril  and  re- 
proach that  they  might  save  these  two  and  bring 
them  back  beyond  the  reach  of  the  white  man.  I 
never  till  that  moment  knew  how  great  and  noble 
were  the  two  men  whose  lives  mine  had  touched, 
spoken  to,  and  parted  from  as  ships  that  meet  and 
part  upon  the  seas. 

We  had  to  fight  a  mixed  body  of  soldiers  and 
settlers,  and  a  short,  but  for  the  Indians  bloody, 
battle  took  place. 

The  chief  of  the  Pit  River  Indians  fell,  and  many 
of  his  best  warriors  around  him.  Early  in  the  fight 
I  received  an  ugly  cut  on  the  forehead,  which  bled 
profusely  and  so  blinded  me  that  I  could  do  nothing 
further  for  my  unhappy  allies.  It  was  a  hopeless 
case.  While  the  fight  waxed  hot  I  stole  off  up  a 
canon  with  a  number  of  the  Shasta  Indians  and 
escaped.  I  came  upon  an  old  wounded  warrior 
leaning  on  his  bow  by  the  trail.  The  old  man  said 
"  Klamat ! "  bowed  his  head  and  pointed  to  the 
ground. 

The  prophecy  had  been  fulfilled. 

Do  not  imagine  these  were  great  battles.  Other 
events  had  the  ears  of  the  world  then,  and  they 
were  probably  hardly  heard  of  beyond  the  lines 
of  the  State.  Half  armed,  and  wholly  untrained,  the 
Indians  could  not  or  did  not  make  a  single  respectable 


FOR  TEE  REP  UBL1C.  401 

stand.  The  losses  were  almost  always  wholly  on 
their  side. 

Had  they  been  able  to  make  one  or  two  bold 
advances  against  the  whites,  then  negotiations  would 
have  been  opened,  terms  offered,  opinions  exchanged, 
rights  and  wrongs  discussed,  and  the  Indians  would 
at  least  have  had  a  hearing.  But  so  long  as  the 
troops  had  it  their  own  way,  the  only  terms  were  the 
Reservation,  or  annihilation. 

The  few  remaining  Modoc  warriors  now  returned 
to  their  sage-brush  plains  and  tule  lakes  to  the  east ; 
the  Shastas  withdrew  to  the  head-waters  of  the 
McCloud,  thus  abandoning  lands  that  it  would  take 
you  days  of  journey  to  encompass;  and  the  Pit 
River  Indians,  now  almost  starving,  with  an  approach- 
ing winter  to  confront,  sent  in  their  remaining  women 
and  children  in  sign  of  submission.  They  were 
sadly  reduced  in  numbers,  and  perhaps  less  than  a 
thousand  were  taken  to  the  Reservation.  To-day 
the  tribe  is  nearly  extinct. 

And  why  did  the  Government  insist  to  the  bitter 
end  that  the  Indians  should  leave  this  the  richest 
and  finest  valley  of  northern  California?  Because 
the  white  settlers  wanted  it.  Voters  wanted  it,  and 
no  aspirant  for  office  dared  say  a  word  for  the  Indian. 
So  it  goes. 

The  last  fight  was  a  sort  of  Waterloo.  There  was 
now  no  hope.     My  plans  for  the  little  Republic  were 


402  THE  LAST  BA  TTLE 

utterly  overthrown.  I  could  now  only  bring  ruin 
upon  the  Indians  and  destruction  upon  myself  by 
remaining.     I  resolved  to  go. 

At  last  a  thought  like  this  began  to  take  shape.  I 
will  descend  into  the  active  world.  I  will  go  down 
from  my  snowy  island  into  the  strong  sea  of  people, 
and  try  my  fortunes  for  only  a  few  short  years. 
With  this  mountain  at  my  back,  this  forest  to  retreat 
to  if  I  am  worsted,  I  can  feel  strong  and  brave ;  and 
if  by  chance  I  win  the  fight,  I  will  here  return  and 
rest. 

My  presence  there,  instead  of  being  a  protection,  was 
only  a  peril  now  to  the  Indians.  I  told  Warrottetotr 
the  old  warrior,  frankly  that  I  wished  to  go,  that  it 
was  best  I  should,  for  the  white  men  could  not 
understand  why  I  was  there,  except  it  was  to  in- 
cite them  to  battle  or  plunder. 

I  sat  down  with  him  by  the  river,  and  with  a  stick 
marked  out  the  world  in  the  sand,  showed  him  how 
narrow  were  his  possessions  now,  and  told  him  where 
all  his  wars  must  end.  He  gave  me  permission  to  go, 
and  said  nothing  more.     He  seemed  bewildered. 

The  old  chief,  the  day  before  my  departure,  rode 
down  with  me  from  the  high  mountains  to  the  beau- 
tiful Now-aw-aw  valley,  where  I  had  built  a  cabin 
years  before.  We  stopped  on  a  hill  overlooking  the 
valley  and  dismounted;  he  took  fragments  of  lava 
and  built  a  little  monument.     He  pointed  out  high 


FOB  THE  REPUBLIC.  403 

landmarks  away  below  the  valley  embracing  almost 
as  mucli  land  as  you  could  journey  around  in  a  day's 
travel. 

"This  is  yours.  All  this  valley  is  yours;  I  give 
it  to  you  with  my  own  hand."  He  went  down  the 
hill  a  little  way,  and  taking  up  some  of  the  earth 
brought  it  to  me  and  sprinkled  it  upon  and  before 
my  feet. 

"  It  is  all  yours,"  he  said,  "  you  have  done  all  you 
could  do,  and  deserve  it ;  besides,  I  have  no  one  to 
leave  it  to  now  but  you." 

"  You  will  go  on  your  way,  will  win  a  place  among 
your  own  people,  and  when  you  return  you  will  have 
lands,  a  home  and  hunting-grounds.  These  you  will 
find  here  when  you  return,  but  you  will  not  find  me, 
nor  one  of  my  children,  nor  one  of  my  tribe." 

The  poor  old  Indian,  battle-worn,  wounded  and 
broken  in  spirit,  was  all  heart,  all  tenderness  and 
truth  and  devotion.  He  could  not  understand  why 
that  land  should  not  be  wholly  mine.  He  had  not 
the  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  this  gift  of  his  made  the 
little  valley  as  surely  and  wholly  mine  as  if  a  thou- 
sand deeds  had  testified  to  the  inheritance.  He  could 
not  understand  why  he  was  not  the  lord  and  owner 
of  the  land  which  had  been  handed  down  to  him 
through  a  thousand  generations,  that  had  been  fought 
for  and  defended  from  a  time  as  old,  perhaps,  as  the 
history  of  the  invader. 


404     LAST  BATTLE  FOE  TILE  EEP  UBLIG. 

Under  the  madronos  my  horse  stood  saddled  for  a 
long,  hard  ride.  Good-byes  were  said,  I  led  my 
steed  a  little  way,  and  an  Indian  woman  walked  at 
my  side. 

Some  things  shall  be  sacred.  Kecital  is  sometimes 
profanity. 

It  was  a  sudden  impulse  that  made  me  set  my 
horse  back  on  his  haunches  as- he  bounded  away,  un- 
wind my  red  silk  sash,  wave  a  farewell  with  it,  toss 
it  to  her,  and  bid  her  keep  it  till  my  return.  In  less 
than  forty  days,  I  rested  beneath  the  palms  of  Nicara- 
gua. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

AFTER    A    DOZEN    YEARS. 

%  ORE  than  a  dozen  years  had  passed  away. 
And  what  years  !  I  had  gone  through  almost 
every  stage  and  experience  of  human  life.  I 
had  gone  far  out  and  away  from  my  life  in  the  moun- 
tains among  the  Indians.  I  had  come  to  look  upon 
it  as  upon  the  life  of  another.  It  seemed  to  be  no 
longer  a  part  of  my  nature  or  myself,  much  as  I  loved 
it  and  fondly  as  I  cherished  the  memory  of  the  dead 
days  and  their  dead. 

Irresistibly  I  was  drawn  to  return  at  the  first  pos- 
sible opportunity,  and  now  in  the  yellow  autumn  I 
was  nearing  my  old  home.  The  narrow  trails  were 
no  longer  in  use.  A  broad  stasre  road  was  hewn 
from  out  the  mountain-sides,  and  we  dashed  through 
the  forests  as  if  on  the  highway  of  an  old  civilization. 
I  was  an  utter  stranger  to  all.  I  saw  no  familiar 
faces  among  the  few  worthless  Indians  about  the 
stations,  and  no  white  man  suspected  that  I  had  once 

held  dominion  in  all  that  wild  and  splendid  region. 

405 


406  AFTER  A 

I  sat  with,  the  driver  as  the  six  horses  spun  us  at 
a  gallop  around  the  spurs  of  the  mountain  crags  over- 
hanging the  Sacramento  River.  Our  road,  cut  from 
the  rocks,  had  looked  like  a  spider  web  swinging  in 
the  air  when  we  saw  it  first  from  the  waters  of  the 
Sacramento,  that  boiled  and  foamed  in  a  bed-rock 
flume  now  thousands  of  feet  below  us. 

The  passengers,  who  had  been  very  loud  and 
hilarious,  were  now  very  quiet,  and  an  old  gentleman, 
who  was  engaged  in  some  quartz  speculation,  and 
had  been  extremely  anxious  to  get  ahead,  here  stuck 
his  head  out  of  the  window  as  he  gasped  for  breath, 
and  protested  to  the  driver  that  he  had  changed  his 
mind  about  reaching  camp  so  soon,  that,  in  fact,  he 
was  in  no  hurry  at  all,  and  that,  if  he  was  a  mind  to, 
he  might  go  a  little  slow. 

The  driver  then  gently  threaded  the  ribbons 
through  his  fingers  as  if  to  get  a  firmer  hold,  threw 
his  right  arm  out,  and  snapped  the  silk  under  the 
heels  of  his  leaders. 

This  was  the  nervous  man's  only  answer. 

It  was  perfectly  splendid.  We  were  playing  spider 
and  fly  in  the  heavens.  Down  at  the  mountain's  base 
and  pressed  to  the  foamy  rim  of  the  river,  stood  the 
madrono  and  manzanita,  light,  but  trim-limbed,  like 
sycamore ;  and  up  a  little  way  were  oak,  and  ash, 
and  poplar  trees,  yellow  as  the  autumn  frosts  could 
paint  them ;  and  as  the  eye  ascended  the  steep  and 


DOZEN  YEARS.  407 

stupendous  mountain  that  stood  over  across  the 
river  against  us,  yet  so  close  at  hand,  the  fir  and 
tamarack  grew  dense  and  dark,  with  only  now  and 
then  a  clump  of  yellow  trees,  like  islands  set  in  a  sea 
of  green. 

Here  and  there  a  scarlet  maple  blazed  like  the 
burning  bush,  and  to  a  mind  careless  of  appropriate 
figures,  might  have  suggested  Jacob's  kine,  or  the 
coat  of  many  colours.  How  we  flew  and  dashed 
around  the  rocky  spurs  i  Some  chipmunks  dusted 
down  the  road  and  across  the  track,  and  now  and 
then  perched  on  a  limb  in  easy  pistol-shot ;  a  splendid 
grey  squirrel  looked  at  us  under  his  bushy  tail,  and 
barked  and  chattered  undisturbed;  but  we  saw  no 
other  game.  In  a  country  famous  for  its  bear,  we 
saw  not  so  much  as  a  track. 

Down  under  us  on  the  river-bank  the  smoke 
of  a  solitary  wigwam  curled  lazily  up  through  the 
trees,  and  the  Indian  that  stood  on  the  rocks  spear- 
ing the  autumn  run  of  salmon  looked  no  taller  than 
a  span. 

Again  we  dashed  around  a  rocky  point,  and  the 
driver  set  his  leaders  back  on  their  haunches  with  a 
jerk  that  made  six  full  groans  issue  from  inside  the 
stage,  and  as  many  heads  hurry  through  the  windows. 
The  driver  pushed  back  his  hat,  the  hat  that  stage 
drivers  persist  in  wearing  down  on  their  noses, 
pointed  with  his  whip  into  the  air,  and  said, 


408  AFTER  A 

" How's  that  for  high?" 

Then  again  he  snapped  his  silk,  settled  the 
insiders  in  their  seats,  and  we  were  dashing  on 
as  before. 

Mount  Shasta  !  Shasta  the  magnificent  was 
before  us,  above  us !  And  so  sudden !  And  at 
last,  and  after  so  many,  many  years ! 

As  if  a  great  iceberg,  a  portion  of  Alaska,  had 
broken  loose,  and,  seamed  and  scarred  by  the  sun, 
drifted  through  the  air  upon  us. 

The  driver  felt  and  silently  acknowledged  the 
power  of  this  majestic  presence,  for  he  held  the  silk 
in  his  hands  very  quietly,  and  let  the  tired  horses 
have  it  their  own  way  till  he  drew  the  reins  and 
called  out  at  the  end  of  the  next  half  hour,  "  Fifteen 
minutes  for  supper!" 

Even  the  foaming  horses,  weary  as  they  were, 
lifted  their  ears  a  little  and  stepped  more  alert  and 
lively  when  the  sun  flashed  back  upon  us  from  the 
snowy  breastplate  of  kingly  Shasta. 

Here  I  determined  to  cross  the  Sacramento,  climb 
the  mountains  of  the  other  side,  pierce  the  splendid 
forests,  and  reach  the  valleys  of  McCloud  at  the  base 
of  Shasta. 

In  my  mind,  the  wigwams  still  sent  up  their 
smoke  through  the  dense  firs  of  the  McCloud,  and 
pretty  maidens  still  bore  water  on  their  heads  in 
willow   baskets   from   the    river    to  the   village,     I 


DOZEN  YEARS.  409 

almost  heard  the  ancient,  wrinkled  squaws,  grinding 
acorn  bread,  and  the  shouts  of  the  naked  children  at 
their  sports. 

I  could  get  no  ponies,  and  so  had  to  take  little  lean 
Mexican  mules,  old  and  lazy  as  possible,  the  remnant 
of  some  of  the  great  pack  trains  that  strung  across 
these  mountains  in  the  days  when  they  were  only 
marked  by  narrow  trails,  and  everything  was  trans- 
ported on  the  backs  of  these  patient  little  animals. 

My  guide,  sent  along  by  the  ranchero  to  take  care 
of  the  mules  and  return  them,  was  a  singular  Indian. 
His  name  was  "  Limber  Jim."  I  should  have  known 
his  name  was  Limber  Jim  before  I  heard  it.  Out 
here  things  take  their  names  just  as  they  impress 
you.  Once  a  six-foot  desperado  said  to  a  man  with 
a  freckled  face,  who  had  wedged  himself  into  a  party 
as  they  were  lifting  glasses,  "  What  is  your  name  \ " 

"  P.  Archibald  Brown." 

"  P.  Archibald  Hell ! — your  name  is  Ginger." 

A  Californian  desperado  is  not  a  fool ;  he  is  oftener 
a  genius.  "  P.  Archibald  Brown  "  was  never  heard 
of  after  that.  Down  in  Arizona  is  now  a  board  at  the 
head  of  a  little  sandy  hillock  marked  u  Ginger." 

When  Limber  Jim  moved,  every  limb  and  muscle 
was  in  motion.  When  he  opened  his  mouth  he  also 
opened  his  hands,  and  when  he  opened  his  hands  he 
would  helplessly  open  his  mouth. 

After  we  had  forded  the  Sacramento  and  climbed 


410  AFTER  A 

the  long  and  rugged  trail  on  the  other  side,  we  rested 
in  the  shade  and  I  asked  the  creature  his  history. 
His  short  and  simple  annals  were  to  the  effect  that 
he  was  an  Indian  lad  in  good  standing  with  the 
whites  while  they  were  at  war  wath  his  fathers,  and 
was  a  great  pet  among  them. 

But  one  morning  after  a  pack  train  had  disappeared 
a  rancheria  was  surrounded  and  all  the  men  and 
boys  taken  to  the  camp  for  execution,  in  case  the 
mules  were  not  returned  in  a  given  time. 

The  animals,  of  course,  did  not  come  back,  and 
the  Indians,  a  dozen  or  more,  were  punctually  sus- 
pended to  the  nearest  tree,  and  Jim  was  hung  among 
the  rest.  He  said  he  was  hung  by  mistake;  and 
was  very  confident  there  was  no  intention  of  hanging 
him,  but  that  he  got  mixed  up  with  the  rest,  and 
that  men  who  did  not  know  his  face  suspended  him, 
where  he  hung  all  day  by  the  neck  till  it  got  very 
dark,  when  they  took  him  down  and  told  him  they 
were  very  sorry.  He  added  mournfully,  that  his 
nerves  had  never  been  reliable  since. 

We  pushed  our  little  Spanish  mules  along  the  worn 
trail  that  stretched  across  the  mountain.  At  noon 
we  came  down  to  the  McCloud,  which  we  found  too 
deep  to  ford,  and  therefore  bore  up  the  stream  a  little 
way  till  we  could  find  a  lodge  and  log  canoe.  It 
looked  so  very  lonely.  Here  stood  lodges,  but  they 
were  empty.     There,  on  a  point  where  I  had  left  a 


DOZEN  YEARS.  411 

thriving,  prosperous  village,  the  rye  grass  grew  rank 
and  tall  as  our  shoulders  as  we  rode  along. 

The  lodges  stood  still  as  of  old.  An  Indian  never 
tears  down  his  house.  It  will  serve  to  shelter  some 
one  who  is  lost  or  homeless ;  besides,  there  is  a  super- 
stition which  forbids  it.  From  one  of  these  lodges  a 
small  black  wolf  started  out  and  stole  swiftly  across 
the  hill.  When  a  white  man  leaves  a  habitation  he 
changes  the  face  of  things;  an  Indian  leaves  them 
unimpaired.  His  deserted  house  is  the  perfect  body 
wTith  only  the  soul  withdrawn.  An  empty  Indian 
village  is  the  gloomiest  place  in  the  world. 

We  crossed  the  McCloud,  and  our  course  lay 
through  a  saddle  in  the  mountains  to  Pit  River ;  so 
called  from  the  blind  pits  dug  out  like  a  jug  by  the 
Indians  in  places  where  their  enemies  or  game  are 
likely  to  pass.  These  pits  are  dangerous  traps ;  they 
are  ten  or  fifteen  feet  deep,  small  at  the  mouth,  but 
made  to  diverge  in  descent,  so  that  it  is  impossible 
for  anything  to  escape  that  once  falls  into  their 
capacious  maws.  To  add  to  their  horror,  at  the 
bottom,  elk  and  deer  antlers  that  have  been  ground 
sharp  at  the  points  are  set  up  so  as  to  pierce  any 
unfortunate  man  or  beast  they  may  chance  to 
swallow  up. 

They  are  dug  by  the  squaws,  and  the  earth  taken 
from  them  is  carried  in  baskets  and  thrown  into  the 
river.     They  are  covered  in  the  most  cunning  manner ; 


412  AFTER  A 

even  footprints  in  an  old  beaten  trail  are  made  above 
the  treacherous  pits,  and  no  depression,  no  broken 
earth,  nothing  at  all  indicates  their  presence  except 
the  talismanic  stones  or  the  broken  twigs  and  other 
signs  of  a  sort  of  rude  freemasonry  which  only  the 
members  of  a  tribe  can  understand. 

Here  we  passed  groves  of  most  magnificent  oak. 
Their  trunks  are  live  and  six  feet  in  diameter,  and 
the  boughs  were  then  covered  with  acorns  and  fairly 
matted  with  the  mistletoe. 

Coming  down  on  to  the  banks  of  Pit  River,  we 
heard  the  songs  and  shouts  of  Indian  girls  gathering 
acorns.  They  were  up  in  the  oaks,  and  half  covered 
in  the  mistletoe.  They  would  beat  off  the  acorns 
with  sticks,  or  cut  off  the  little  branches  with  toma- 
hawks, and  the  older  squaws  gathered  them  from 
the  ground,  and  threw  them  over  their  shoulders  in 
baskets  borne  by  a  strap  around  the  forehead.  I 
must  here  expose  a  popular  delusion. 

I  have  heard  parents  insist  that  their  girls  should 
wear  shoes,  and  tight  ones  at  that,  in  childhood,  so 
that  their  feet  should  be  small  and  neat  when 
grown.  Now,  I  am  bound  to  say  that  these  Indian 
women,  who  never  wear  anything  closer  than  a 
moccasin  or  Mexican  sandal,  and  not  half  of  the 
time  either  of  the  two,  have  the  smallest  and 
prettiest  feet,  and  hands  also,  I  have  ever  seen. 

These  few  Indian  girls  were  pretty.     Some  of  them 


DOZEN  YEARS.  413 

were  painted  red ;  and  their  splendid  flow  of  intense 
black  hair  showed  well  in  the  yellow  leaves  and  the 
rich  green  mistletoe.  Some  warriors  watched  a  little 
way  off  on  a  hill,  lest  some  savage  border  ruffians, 
under  a  modern  Komulus,  should  swoop  down  upon 
them  and  carry  them  off. 

We  rode  under  the  oaks  and  they  laughed  play- 
fully and  crept  closer  into  the  leaves.  One  little 
sun-browned  savage  pelted  Limber  Jim  with  acorns. 
Then  he  opened  his  mouth  and  laughed,  and  opened 
his  hands  and  let  go  his  reins,  and  rolled  and  shook 
in  his  saddle  as  if  possessed  by  an  earthquake. 

Toward  evening,  in  the  bend  of  Pit  Eiver,  we 
came  upon  an  old  Indian  herding  ponies,  and  it 
occurred  to  us  to  leave  our  mules  to  rest  and  get 
fresh  horses.  Accordingly,  we  approached  the  old 
fellow,  sunning  himself  on  the  sand  before  his  lodge, 
and  said,  in  the  old  words  by  which  a  favour  was 
asked  when  first  I  knew  this  people,  and  had  for  the 
asking, 

"Brother,  the  sun  goes  on.  Your  brothers  are 
weary  and  have  far  to  go.     Bring  us  better  horses." 

The  old  tender  of  herds  turned  his  head  half  way, 
and  informed  me  in  broken  English  and  butchered 
Mexican,  badly  put  together,  that  he  had  some 
horses  to  sell,  but  none  to  give  away.  Consterna- 
tion !  These  Indians  are  getting  civilized,  I  said  to 
myself.  Here  has  been  a  missionary  in  my  absence ; 
and  we  rode  on. 


414  AFTER  A 

Every  foot  of  ground  here,  even  up  to  the  rugged 
base  of  Shasta,  was  familiar  to  me.  Sometimes,  to 
the  terror  of  Limber  Jim,  I  took  the  lead  in  the  trail. 
I  knew  as  well  as  he  the  stones  or  the  broken  twigs 
that  pointed  out  the  pit.  All  the  afternoon  we  rode 
along  the  rim  of  the  bright  blue  river,  except  when 
forced  to  climb  a  spur  of  mountain  that  ran  its  nose 
fairly  into  the  water  and  cut  us  off. 

All  along  the  shores  stood  deserted  lodges,  and 
the  grass  grew  rank  and  tall  around  them.  They 
had  been  depopulated  for  years.  I  had  not  as  yet 
met  a  single  old  acquaintance. 

It  was  fairly  dark  before  we  dismounted  at  an 
empty  lodge  and  pitched  camp  for  the  night. 

Early  we  set  out  next  morning  on  our  solitary 
ride  for  the  camp,  where  the  little  remnant  of  the 
Shastas  were  said  to  be  gathered  high  up  on  the 
mountain.  More  empty  lodges,  right  and  left  only 
solitude  and  desertion. 

We  left  the  river  and  turned  up  a  gorge.  Some- 
times, in  the  great  canon  running  to  the  sun,  the  air  was 
warm  and  fresh  of  falling  leaves;  and  then  again  as  we 
turned  a  point  it  came  pitching  down  upon  us,  keen 
and  sharp  from  the  snows  of  Shasta.  But  few  birds 
sing  here.  There  are  some  robins  and  larks,  and 
also  some  turtle-doves,  which  the  Indians  will  not 
harm.  Partridges  in  splendid  crests  ran  in  hun- 
dreds across  the  trails,  and  these  whistle  all  the  year ; 


DOZEN  YEARS.  415 

but  there  was  an  unaccountable  scarcity  of  birds  for 
a  country  so  densely  timbered. 

At  last,  when  the  shadows  were  very  long,  we 
climbed  a  rugged,  rocky  hill,  nearly  impassable  for 
man  or  mule,  and  saw  on  a  point  in  a  clump  of  pines, 
that  could  only  be  reached  by  crossing  an  open  space 
of  rocks  and  lava,  the  camp  we  sought. 

Indians  have  no  terms  of  salutation.  If  the  dogs 
do  not  celebrate  your  arrival,  all  things  go  on  the 
same  as  if  you  had  never  been.  You  dismount,  un- 
saddle your  mule,  turn  it  to  grass,  take  a  drink  of 
water,  and  then  light  your  pipe,  when  the  men  will 
gather  about  you  by  degrees  and  the  women 
bring  refreshments.  But  our  arrival  here  was  an 
uncommon  occasion.  No  white  man  had  as  yet  set 
foot  on  this  rocky  ridge  and  natural  fortress ;  and 
then  when  it  was  known  that  one  had  returned  to 
their  mountains  whom  they  had  known  of  old,  and 
whose  exploits  and  manners  they  have  magnified  by 
repeated  narration,  no  Indian  stolidity  could  keep  up 
their  traditional  dignity.  Children  peeped  from  the 
lodges,  and  squaws  came  out  from  among  the  trees, 
with  babies  in  willow  baskets.  There  was  a  little 
consultation,  and  we  were  taken  to  a  lodge  of  great 
dimensions,  made  of  cedar  bark  fastened  by  withes 
and  weights  to  a  framework  of  fir  and  cedar  poles. 
The  walls  were  about  eight  feet  high ;  the  roof  slop- 
ing like  that  of  an  ordinary  cabin,  with  an  opening 
in  the  comb  for  the  smoke. 


416  AFTER  A 

We  had  refreshments ;  meats  roasted  by  the  fire, 
and  manzanita  berries  ground  to  powder,  and  acorn 
bread. 

Runners  were  sent  to  the  Modoc  camp,  a  half- 
day  distant,  and  the  few  warriors  came.  But  I 
did  not  know  a  single  face.  The  old  warriors  had 
all  perished.  New  men  had  grown  in  their  places. 
It  seemed  as  if  I  had  outlived  my  generation  even 
in  my  youth.  Then  a  long  smoke  in  silence,  a  little 
time  for  thought,  and  preparations  were  made  for  a 
great  talk. 

And  what  a  talk  it  was  !  Indians,  like  white  men, 
talk  best  about  themselves.  They  spoke  by  turns, 
each  rising  in  his  place,  speaking  but  once,  and  few 
or  many  minutes,  according  to  his  age  and  inclina- 
tion. They  gesticulated  greatly,  and  spoke  rapidly ; 
sometimes  striking  with  imaginary  knives,  twanging 
bows,  and  hurling  tomahawks ;  and  all  the  time  boast- 
ing of  their  own  deeds  or  those  of  their  fathers. 
One  young  man  who  had  not  yet  been  in  battle  told 
of  killing  a  bear;  this  made  another  young  man 
laugh,  and  then  all  the  Indians  frowned  terribly.  To 
think  that  a  young  man  should  so  far  forget  himself 
as  to  laugh  in  council ! 

Nearly  all  the  speeches  were  mournful,  sad,  and 
pathetic,  but  some  very  fine  things  were  said.  As  of 
old,  all  their  invectives  were  hurled  at  their  hereditary 
enemy.     One  old  man  said,  "  The  whites  were  as  the 


DOZEN  YEARS.  417 

ocean,  strong  and  aggressive;  while  the  red  men 
were  as  the  sand,  silent,  helpless,  tossed  about,  run 
upon,  and  swallowed  up."  He  was  the  only  one 
that  stood  up  tall  and  talked  like  a  reasonable  man. 
He  wore  a  robe  of  panther  skins  thrown  back  from 
his  shoulders. 

I  saw  that  even  these  few  surviving  people  would 
not  die  in  silence.  They  were  as  a  wounded  serpent 
that  could  yet  strike  if  a  foot  was  set  in  reach. 

To  me  all  this  was  sad  beyond  recital.  "What  had 
these  people  seen,  endured,  felt,  suffered  in  all  the 
years  of  my  absence  !     And  the  end  was  not  yet. 

The  struggles  of  many  years  were  recounted  many 
times,  by  each  man  telling  the  part  he  had  borne  in 
the  battles,  and  from  an  Indian's  standpoint  it  looked 
sad  enough.  The  old  savage  spoken  of  had  not  much 
to  say  of  himself,  but  now  and  then  his  long  fingers 
would  point  to  scars  on  his  naked  breast,  when 
alluding  to  some  battle. 

"  Once,"  said  he,  in  conclusion,  "  we  were  so  many 
we  could  not  all  stand  upon  this  hill ;  now  we  are  all  in 
one  little  cawel ; "  and  here  he  made  a  solemn  sweep 
with  his  arm,  which  was  very  grand.  Then  after  a 
pause  he  said :  "  Once  I  had  seven  wives,  now  I  have 
only  two." 

At  midnight,  with  solemn  good-nights,  the  men 
arose  one  by  one  and  retired. 

Over  all  things  there  hung  a  gloom.     I  went  out 

A- 


418  AFTER  A  DOZEN  YEARS. 

into  the  village  of  a  dozen  houses  that  crouched  down 
under  the  dense  black  pines.  What  a  glorious  moon ! 
Only  such  a  moon  as  California  can  afford.  A  long 
white  cloud  of  swans  stretched  overhead,  croaking 
dolefully  enough ;  the  sea  of  evergreen  pines  that 
rolled  about  the  bluff  and  belted  the  base  of  Shasta 
was  sable  as  a  pall,  but  the  snowy  summit  in  the 
splendours  of  the  moon,  flashed  like  a  pyramid  of 
silver !  All  these  mountains,  all  these  mighty  forests, 
were  to  me  a  schoolboy's  play-ground,  the  playmates 
gone,  the  master  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

THE   LAST  OF   THE   CHILDREN    OF   SHASTA. 

LEANED  from  the  black  stone  wall  that 
sheltered  the  lodges  from  the  south,  and 
watched  the  white  McCloud  riding  like  a  stream 
of  light  through  the  forest  under  me,  and  thought  of 
many  things. 

Yonder  lay  my  beautiful  Now-aw-wa  valley ;  that 
was  wholly  mine,  that  I  should  never  possess,  to 
which  I  should  never  dare  assert  my  right,  and  there, 
not  far  away,  were  the  ashes  of  the  great  Chief  of 
the  Shastas.  Strangely  enough  he  had  fought  his 
last  fight  there,  not  far  from  the  spot  where  he  had 
stood  and  given  me  possession  of  the  cherished  part 
of  his  old  inheritance. 

How  still,  how  silent  were  all  things  !  Not  a  camp- 
fire  shining  through  all  the  solemn  forest.  It  was  a 
tomb,  dark  and  typical; — the  Cyprus  and  the  cedar 
trees  drooped  their  sable  plumes  above  the  dead  of 
a  departed  race. 

Why  had  I   returned   here?     The   reasons  were 

419 


420  THE  LAST  OF  THE 

many  and  all-sufficient.  Among  others  I  had  heard 
that  another  had  come  upon  the  scene.  A  rumour 
had  reached  me  that  a  little  brown  girl  was  flitting 
through  these  forests ;  wild,  frightened  at  the  sight 
of  man,  timid,  sensitive,  and  strangely  beautiful. 
Who  was  she  ?  Was  she  the  last  of  the  family  of 
Mountain  Joe  \  Was  she  one  of  the  Doctor's  chil- 
dren, half  prophetess,  half  spirit,  gliding  through 
the  pines,  shunning  the  face  of  the  Saxon,  or  was 
she  even  something  more  ?  Well,  here  is  a  little 
secret  which  shall  remain  hers.  She  is  a  dreamer, 
and  delights  in  mystery.  Who  she  was  or  who  she  is 
I  have  hardly  a  right  to  say.     Her  name  is  Calli  Shasta. 

What  was  I  to  do  ?  Leave  her  to  perish  there  in 
the  gathering  storm  that  was  to  fall  upon  the 
Modocs  and  their  few  allies,  or  tear  her  away  from 
her  mother  and  the  mountains  ? 

But  where  was  the  little  maiden  now,  as  I  looked 
from  the  battlement  on  the  world  below  ?  They  told 
me  she  was  with  my  Modocs  away  to  the  east  among 
the  lakes.  I  waited,  enquired,  delayed  many  days, 
but  neither  she  nor  her  mother  would  appear.  Her 
mother,  poor  broken-hearted  Indian  woman,  once  a 
princess,  was  afraid  I  would  carry  away  her  little 
girl.  At  last  I  bade  farewell,  and  turned  down  the 
winding  hill.     I  heard  a  cry  and  looked  up. 

There  on  the  wall  she  stood,  waving  a  red  scarf. 

Was    it   the    same?     Surely  it    was    the    same  I 


THE  INDIAN  MOTHER. 


CHILDREN  OF  SHASTA.  421 

had  thrown  her  years  and  years  before,  when  I  left 
the  land  a  fugitive. 

There  was  a  little  girl  beside  her,  too,  not  so 
brown  as  she,  waving  one  pretty  hand  as  she  held  to 
the  woman's  robe  with  the  other.  I  stopped  and 
raised  my  hat,  and  called  a  kind  farewell,  and  under- 
took to  say  some  pretty  things,  but  just  that  moment 
my  mule,  as  mules  always  will,  opened  his  mouth 
and  brayed  and  brayed  as  if  he  would  die.  I  jerked 
and  kicked  him  into  silence,  and  then  began  again ; 
and  again  the  mule  began,  this  time  joined  by 
Limber  Jim's.  Limber  Jim  swore  in  wretched 
English,  but  it  was  no  use — the  scarlet  banner  from 
the  wall  was  to  them  the  signal  of  war,  and  they 
refused  to  be  silenced  until  we  mounted  and  de- 
scended to  the  glorious  pines,  where  I  had  rode  and 
roved  the  sweetest  years  of  my  life. 

Yet  still  the  two  hands  were  lifted  from  the  wall, 
and  the  red  scarf  waved  till  the  tops  of  the  pines 
came  down,  and  we  could  see  no  more. 

Then  I  lifted  my  hat  and  said,  "  Adieu  !  I  reckon 
I  shall  never  see  you  any  more.  Never,  unless  it 
may  come  to  pass  that  the  world  turns  utterly 
against  me.  And  then,  what  if  I  were  to  return 
and  find  not  a  single  living  savage  % " 

I  think  I  was  as  a  man  whose  senses  were  in 
another  world.  Once  I  stopped,  dismounted,  leaned 
on  my  little  mule,  looking  earnestly  back  to  the  rocky 


422  tub:  last  of  tee 

point  as  if  about  to  return ;  as  if  almost  determined 
to  return  at  once  and  there  to  remain.  There  was  a 
battle  in  my  heart.  At  length  awakened,  I  mounted 
my  mule  mechanically  and  went  on. 

The  Doctor  still  lived.  I  would  see  him  once 
more  before  I  left  the  land  for  ever.  It  was  a  hard 
and  a  long  day's  journey,  and  was  nearly  sundown 
when  we  reached  the  little  path  planted  with  cherry 
trees,  and  overhung  in  places  with  vines  of  grape, 
leading  from  the  river  up  the  hill  to  his  house.  I 
heard  the  shouts  of  children  in  the  hills,  and  saw 
the  old  man  sitting  in  his  cabin  porch  that  overlooks 
the  river.  He  had  some  books  and  papers  near  him. 
His  face  and  demeanour  were  majesty  itself. 

He  arose  as  he  saw  us  through  the  trees  and 
vines,  and  shaded  his  brow  with  his  hand  as  he 
peered  down  the  path.  Men  in  the  mountains  do 
not  forget  faces.  Mountaineers  never  forget  each 
other,  though  they  may  separate  for  twenty  years. 
In  a  city  you  may  meet  a  thousand  new  faces  a 
year ;  there  a  new  face  is  a  rare  thing. 

He  came  down  the  steps  in  moccasins  and  a  rich 
dress  of  skins  and  fur.  His  thin  hair  fell  in  long 
silver  tresses  on  his  shoulders.  He  was  stouter  than 
before,  and  seemed  quite  strong.  He  took  my  hands, 
led  me  up  to  a  seat,  sat  down  by  my  side,  and  we 
two  together  looked  up  the  river  and  up  to  the 
north. 


CHILDREN  OF  SHASTA.  423 

The  same  old  golden  glory  rested  like  a  mantle  on 
the  shoulders  and  about  the  brows  of  Shasta;  the 
same  sunset  splendour  as  of  old ;  the  purple  tint,  the 
streaming  bars,  the  banner  of  red  and  blue  and  gold 
was  stretching  away  from  the  summit  across  the  sky. 

He  had  learned  the  Indians'  custom  of  silent 
salutation,  which  means  so  much ;  but  I  knew  his 
thoughts.  He  was  saying  in  his  heart  so  loud  that  I 
heard  him :  u  You  and  I  are  changed,  the  world  has 
changed,  men  and  women  have  grown  old  and  ugly, 
and  a  new  generation  now  controls  and  possesses  the 
world  below.     Here  there  is  no  change." 

I  looked  often  at  my  old  companion  there,  as  he 
looked  away  across  the  scarlet  and  yellow  woods  in 
the  dying  sunlight  or  lifted  his  face  to  the  mountain. 
The  old,  old  face,  but  nobler  now,  a  sort  of  strength 
in  its  very  weakness,  an  earnestness  very  finely 
marked,  a  sincerity  not  stamped  in  broad  furrows  or 
laid  in  brick  and  mortar,  but  set  in  threads  of  silver 
and  of  gold. 

He  had  settled  here  in  a  stormy  time.  For  the 
good  he  could  do  he  came  down  here  on  the  line 
between  the  white  man  and  the  red,  where  the  worst 
of  both  men  are  always  found,  and  you  have  nothing 
to  expect  from  either  but  suspicion,  treachery,  and 
abuse,  and  here  gathered  a  few  Indians  about  him, 
and  took  up  his  abode. 

He  had  planted  trees,  tilled  the  soil  a  little,  grew 


424  THE  LAST  OF  THE 

some  stock,  and  now  had  a  pleasant  home,  and  horses 
and  cattle  in  herds  np  and  down  the  river. 

As  the  sun  went  down,  the  children, — brown, 
beautiful,  and  healthy  children,  strong  and  supple, — 
came  in  from  the  hills  with  the  herds,  and  dis- 
mounted, while  some  Indians  came  up  from  the  river 
and  led  their  ponies  down  to  water. 

A  little  girl  came  up  the  steps ;  the  eldest,  a  shy 
child  of  not  more  than  a  dozen  years,  yet  almost  a 
woman,  for  this  Californian  sun  is  passionate,  and 
matures  us  early.  A  great  black  pet  bear  was  by 
her  side,  and  she  seemed  to  shrink  as  she  saw  me,  a 
stranger,  there,  and  half  hid  behind  his  shaggy  coat. 
She  took  an  apple  from  the  ground  that  had  fallen  in 
the  path,  and  then  the  huge  bear  reared  himself  on 
his  hind  legs  before  her  as  she  turned,  showing  the 
white  of  his  breast  to  us,  and  opened  his  red  mouth, 
and  held  his  head  coaxingly  to  one  side  to  receive 
the  apple.     The  bear  was  as  tall  as  the  little  woman. 

The  next  morning,  when  I  persisted  that  I  could 
not  remain,  fresh  horses  were  saddled  for  us,  and  an 
Indian  given  to  return  the  tired  mules  to  the  station. 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me,"  said  I,  as  we  walked 
down  the  path  to  the  canoe,  "  that  you  bore  nothing 
of  the  blood  of  those  men  t " 

The  old  nervousness  swept  across  his  face,  but  he 
was  composed  and  pleasant. 

"  Would  men  have  believed  me  ?     And  if  they  had 


CHILDREN  OF  SHASTA.  425 

believed  me,  was  I  not  as  able  to  bear  the  blame  as 
the  poor,  desperate  and  outraged  little  Indian  ?  As 
a  true  Indian,  he  could  not  have  done  otherwise  than 
he  did.  If  ever  men  deserved  death  those  did.  Yet, 
had  it  even  been  believed  that  they  fell  by  an 
Indian's  hand,  not  only  those  two  children,  but 
every  Indian  that  set  his  foot  in  camp  had  been 
butchered." 

I  could  not  answer.  I  could  only  think  how  this 
man  must  have  suffered  to  save  those  two  waifs  of 
the  forest,  how  he  had  thought  it  all  out  in  the  old 
mining  camp,  balanced  the  chances,  counted  the  cost, 
and  deliberately  at  last  decided  to  become  an  out- 
cast from  the  civilized  world. 

He  stood  with  his  moccasins  down  to  the  river's 
rim,  and  took  my  hand,  as  the  Indian  seated  himself 
in  the  canoe  and  lifted  his  paddle. 

"  Come  back,"  he  said,  "  to  the  mountains.  The 
world  is  fooling  you.  It  will  laugh  and  be  amused 
to-day,  as  you  dance  before  it  in  your  youth,  and 
sing  wild  songs,  but  to-morrow  it  will  tire  of  the 
forest  fragrance  and  the  breath  of  the  California  lily ; 
your  green  leaves  will  wither  in  the  hot  atmosphere 
of  fashion,  and  in  a  year  or  two  you  will  be  more 
wretched  than  you  can  think;  you  will  be  neither 
mountaineer  nor  man  of  the  world,  but  vibrate  hope- 
lessly between,  and  be  at  home  in  neither  capacity. 
Come,  be  brave  !     It  is  no  merit  to  leave  the  world 


420  TEE  LAST  OF  TEE 

when  it  has  left  you,  and  requires  no  courage ;  but 
now — " 

u  Say  no  more,"  1  cried,  "  I  will  come !  Yonder, 
across  the  hills,  where  the  morning  sun  is  resting  on 
the  broad  plateau,  there  among  the  oaks  and  pines, 
I  will  pitch  a  tent,  and  there  take  up  my  everlasting 
rest." 

A  pressure  of  the  hand  for  the  promise ;  the  canoe 

swung  free,  the  Indian's  paddle  made  eddies  in  the 

bright  blue  water,  the  horses  blew  the  bubbles  from 

their   nostrils,  and  their  long  manes  floated  in  the 

sweeping  tide. 

*  ****** 

I  am  now  in  my  new  home  where  I  have  rested 
and  written  this  history  of  my  life  among  the  Indians 
of  Mount  Shasta.  I  have  seen  enough  of  cities  and 
civilization — too  much.  I  can  endure  storms,  floods, 
earthquakes,  but  not  this  rush  and  crush  and  crowd- 
ing of  men,  this  sort  of  moral  cannibalism,  where 
souls  eat  souls,  where  men  kill  each  other  to  get 
their  places.  I  have  returned  to  my  mountains.  I 
have  room  here.  No  man  wants  my  place,  there  is 
no  rivalry,  no  jealousy  ;  no  monster  will  eat  me  up 
while  I  sleep,  no  man  will  stab  me  in  the  back  when 
I  stoop  to  drink  from  the  spring. 

And  yet  how  many  noble  and  generous  men  have 
I  met  away  out  in  the  sea  of  human  life,  far  from  my 
snowy  island  in  the  clouds !     Possibly,  after  all,  I 


THE  DOCTOR'S  HOME. 


CHILDREN  OF  SHASTA  427 

am  here,  not  that  I  love  society  less,  but  the  solitude 
more. 

The  heart  takes  root  like  a  tree  when  it  is  young 
and  strong,  and  fresh  and  growing.  It  shoots  ten- 
drils like  a  vine.  You  cannot  tear  it  from  its  place 
at  will.  You  may  be  very  strong ;  you  may  even 
uproot  and  transplant,  but  it  will  never  nourish  in 
the  new  place  or  be  satisfied. 

We  have  a  cabin  here  among  the  oaks  and  the 
pines,  on  a  bench  of  the  mountain,  looking  down  on 
the  Sacramento  valley,  a  day's  ride  distant. 

A  stream,  white  as  cotton,  is  foaming  among  the 
mossy  rocks  in  a  canon  below  the  house,  with  balm 
and  madrono  on  its  banks,  and  I  have  some  horses 
on  the  plain  below.  I  have  cattle  on  the  manzanita 
hills  above  me,  towards  the  snow,  where  the  grass  is 
fresh  the  season  through.  You  can  hear  the  old 
white  bull,  the  leader  of  the  herd,  lift  up  his  voice 
in  the  morning,  and  challenge  the  whole  world  below 
to  battle,  but  no  David  comes  to  meet  him.  When 
we  want  a  fresh  horse  here,  we  mount  one  of  those 
staked  out  yonder  by  lariat  and  hackamore,  ride 
down  to  the  band  in  the  plain,  take,  with  the  lasso, 
the  strongest  and  fastest  of  them  all,  saddle  him, 
mount,  and  turn  the  other  loose  to  run  till  strong  and 
fresh  again. 

1  have  a  field  too,  down  yonder,  where  we  lead  the 
water  through  the  corn,  and  the  rich,  rank  growth  of 


428  TEE  LAST  OF  THE 

many  kinds  of  vines.  We  have  planted  an  orchard, 
and  grape  vines  are  climbing  up  the  banks,  and 
across  the  boulders  that  time  has  tumbled  down  from 
the  manzanita  hills.  We  will  remain  here  by  our 
vine  and  our  fig  tree  till  we  can  take  shelter  under 
their  boughs. 

We  will  yet  eat  fruit  from  the  trees  we  have 
planted. 

We?  Why,  yes!  That  means  little  "  Calli  Shasta," 
the  little  shy,  brown  girl  that  tried  to  hide,  and 
refused  to  see  me  wrhen  I  first  returned  to  the 
mountains.  She  is  with  me  now,  and  wears  a  red 
sash,  and  a  scarf  gracefully  folded  about  her  shoulders 
under  her  rich  flow  of  hair.  I  call  her  Shasta  because 
she  was  born  here,  under  the  shadows  of  Mount 
Shasta,  many  stormy  years  ago.  How  she  can  ride, 
shoot,  hunt,  and  track  the  deer,  and  take  the  salmon  ! 
Beautiful  ?  I  think  so.  And  then  she  is  so  fresh,  in- 
nocent and  affectionate.  Last  night  I  was  telling  her 
about  the  people  in  the  world  below,  how  crowded 
they  were  in  cities,  and  how  they  had  to  struggle. 

u  Poor  things  !  "  she  said,  "  poor  things  !  how  I 
pity  them  all  that  they  have  to  stay  down  there. 
Why  cannot  they  come  up  here  from  their  troubles 
and  be  happy  with  us  ? " 

She  is  learning  to  read,  and  believes  everything 
she  has  yet  found  in  the  school  books — George 
Washington  with  his  hatchet  and  all.     The  sweet. 


CHILDREN  OF  SHASTA.  429 

sweet  child  !  I  am  waiting  to  see  what  she  will  say 
when  she  comes  to  the  story,  of  Jonah  and  the 
whale. 

The  Prince  is  here  too.  There  is  a  tinge  of  gray  in 
his  hair  and  a  touch  of  sadness  in  his  face.  He  is 
back  from  his  wanderings.  Up  from  the  world,  up 
to  this  sort  of  half-way  house  to  the  better  land. 

To-day,  when  the  sun  was  low,  we  sat  down  in  the 
shadow  of  the  pines  on  a  mossy  trunk,  a  little  way  out 
from  the  door.  The  sun  threw  lances  against  the 
shining  mail  of  Shasta,  and  they  glanced  aside  and 
fell,  quivering,  at  our  feet,  on  the  quills  and  dropping 
acorns.  A  dreamy  sound  of  waters  came  up  through 
the  tops  of  the  alder  and  madrono  trees  below  us. 

The  world,  no  doubt,  went  on  in  its  strong,  old 
way,  afar  off,  but  we  did  not  hear  it.  The  sailing 
of  ships,  the  conventions  of  men,  the  praise  of  men, 
and  the  abuse  of  men ;  the  gathering  together  of  the 
air  in  silks,  and  laces,  and  diamonds  under  the 
lights ;  the  success  or  defeat  of  this  measure  or  of  that 
man ;  profit  and  loss ;  the  rise  and  fall  of  stocks : 
what  were  they  all  to  us? 

Peace !  After  many  a  year  of  battle  with  the 
world,  we  had  retreated,  thankful  for  a  place  of 
retreat,  and  found  rest — peace.  Now  and  then  an 
acorn  dropped ;  now  and  then  an  early  leaf  fell 
down  ;  and  once  I  heard  the  whistle  of  an  an  tiered 
deer  getting  his  herd  together  to  lead  them  down  the 


430  THE  LAST  OF  TEE 

mountain ;  but  that  was  all  that  broke  the  perfect 
stillness. 

A  chipmunk  dusted  across  the  burrs,  mounted  the 
further  end  of  the  mossy  trunk,  lifted  on  his  hind 
legs,  and  looked  all  around ;  then,  finding  no  hand 
against  him,  let  himself  down,  ran  past  my  elbow  on 
to  the  ground  again,  and  gathered  in  his  paws,  then 
into  his  mouth,  an  acorn  at  our  feet. 

Peace  !  Peace !  Who,  my  little  brown  neighbour 
in  the  striped  jacket,  who  would  have  allowed  you  to 
take  that,  even  that  acorn,  in  peace,  down  in  the  busy, 
battling  world  ?  But  we  are  above  it.  The  storms 
of  the  social  sea  may  blow,  the  surf  may  break 
against  the  rocky  base  of  this  retreat,  may  even 
sweep  a  little  way  into  the  sable  fringe  of  firs,  but 
it  shall  never  reach  us  here. 

I  looked  at  the  Prince  as  the  sun  went  down.  I 
had  so  longed  to  know  the  secret  of  his  life.  Yet  I 
had  never  doubted  that  he  was  all  he  looked  and 
seemed :  a  genuine,  splendid  Prince. 

Strange,  nay,  more  than  strange,  that  men  should 
live  together  in  the  mountains,  year  after  year,  and 
not  even  know  each  other's  names,  not  even  the  place 
of  their  birth.  Yet  such  is  the  case  here,  and  all  up 
and  down  the  Sierras.  A  sort  of  tacit  agreement  it 
seems  to  have  been  from  the  first,  that  they  should 
not  ask  of  the  past,  that  they  began  a  new  life  here. 
The  plains  and  the  great  seas  they  had  crossed  were 


OA.LLI  SHASTA. 


CHILDREN  OF  SHASTA.  431 

as  gulfs  of  oblivion.  Was  it  an  agreement  that  we 
should  all  begin  life  even  here,  and  equal  ?  or  was  it 
because  these  men  were  above  any  low  curiosity,  be- 
cause they  had  something  to  do  beside  prying  into 
the  past  lives  of  their  neighbours?  I  should  say  that 
this  fine  peculiarity  grew  largely  out  of  the  latter. 

But  here  it  seemed  the  Prince  and  I  had  at  last 
pitched  our  tent  for  good,  together.  I  had  told  him 
of  my  ten  years'  battle  just  past,  and  he  had  re- 
counted his.  He  had  crossed  and  recrossed  the 
Cordilleras  and  the  Andes,  sailed  up  and  down  the 
Amazon,  fought  in  Nicaragua,  and  at  last  raised  an  old 
Spanish  galleon  from  Fonseca  filled  with  doubloons 
and  Mexican  dollars  that  had  gone  down  in  the  sea 
half  a  century  before. 

But  his  name  ?  Was  he  really  a  Prince,  and  if  he 
was  really  a  Prince  why  follow  the  mountains  so  far  ? 
Why  seek  for  gold,  and  why  at  last  return  to  Shasta, 
instead  of  to  his  people  and  his  possessions  ?  My  faith 
was  surely  shaken.  So  many  years  of  practical  life 
had  taken  something  of  the  hero-worship  out  of  my 
nature.  There  was  no  longer  the  haze  of  sovereignty 
about  the  head  of  this  man,  and  yet  I  believe  I  loved 
him  as  truly  as  ever. 

Little  Shasta  came  dashing  up  with  the  hounds  at 
her  horse's  heels.  A  chill  breath  came  pitching  down 
from  the  mountain  tops,  keen  and  crisp,  and  we  arose 
to  enter  the  cabin. 


432  THE  LAST  OF  THE 

I  put  my  hand  on  his  arm,  reached  up  and 
touched  the  long,  black  curls  that  lay  on  his 
shoulder,  for  I  am  now  as  tall  as  he. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  I,  "  you  are  really  a  Prince, 
are  you  not  ? " 

"  A  Prince  !  "  said  he  with  surprise.  u  Why,  what 
in  the  world  put  that  into  your  head  \  "  and  he  put 
my  hand  playfully  aside  and  looked  in  my  face. 
Pie  patted  the  ground  in  the  old,  old  way,  smiled 
so  gently,  so  graciously  and  kind,  that  I  almost 
regretted  I  had  spoken.     "  A  Prince  !  indeed  ! " 

"Then  pray,  once  for  all,  tell  me  who  you  are, 
and  what  is  your  real  Christian  proper  name." 

He  laughed  a  little,  tossed  his  black  hair  back 
from  his  face,  stooped,  picked  up  an  acorn  and  tossed 
it  lightly  after  a  chipmunk  that  ran  along  the  mossy 
trunk,  and  said : — 

"  Why,  a  man,  of  course,  like  yourself.  An 
American,  born  of  poor  parents,  so  that  I  had  to 
make  the  best  of  it ;  drifted  into  Mexico  after  awhile, 
and  have  been  drifting  ever  since ;  aimless,  idle,  till 
I  met  you  and  undertook  to  pull  you  through  the 
winter.  As  for  my  name,  it  is  Thompson,  James 
Thompson."  Here  he  stooped,  picked  another  acorn 
from  the  ground,  and  cast  it  at  the  hounds  that  stood 
listening  to  the  whistle  of  the  deer. 

"  Ah,  Prince  !  Prince  !  You  should  at  least  have 
had    a    romantic    and    prince-like  name,"  I  said    to 


CHILDREN  OF  SHASTA.  433 

myself,  as  I  filled  a  pipe  with  killikinick  and  re- 
clined on  the  panther  skins  in  the  cabin  when  we 
had  entered. 

"  But  see,"  I  said  with  paternal  air,  to  Calli,  as  I 
blew  the  smoke  towards  the  thatch,  and  she  came 
bounding  in,  filling  the  house  like  sunshine,  with 
cheerfulness  and  content ;  "  see  what  silence,  coupled 
with  gentlemanly  bearing,  may  do  in  the  world. 
Even  plain  Mr.  Thompson  may  be  named  a  Prince." 

He  is  indeed  a  Prince,  none  the  less  a  Prince 
than  before.  Here  we  shall  dwell  together.  Here 
we  shall  be  and  abide  in  the  dark  days  of  winter 
and  the  strong  full  days  of  the  summer.  Here  we 
have  pitched  our  tents,  and  here  we  shall  rest  and 
remain  unto  the  end. 

I  have  seen  enough,  too  much  to  be  in  love  with 
life  as  I  find  it  where  men  are  gathered  together.  As 
for  civilization,  it  has  been  my  fate  or  my  fortune  to 
see  it  in  every  stage  and  grade,  from  the  bottom  to 
the  top.  And  I  am  bound  to  say  that  I  have  found 
it  much  like  my  great  snow  peaks  of  the  Sierras. 
The  higher  up  you  go  the  colder  it  becomes. 

Yet  a  good  and  true  man  will  not  withhold  himself 
utterly  from  society,  no  matter  how  much  he  may 
dislike  it.  He  will  go  among  the  people  there  much 
as  a  missionary  goes  among  the  heathen,  for  the  good 
he  can  do  in  their  midst. 

How  it  amuses  me  to  see  my  friends,  the  men  I  have 


434  THE  LAST  OF  THE 

met  in  civilization,  denying  and  attempting  to  dispute 
the  story  that  I  am  the  man  who  lived  with  the 
Indians  and  led  them  in  war.  Ah,  my  friends,  you  do 
not  know  me  at  all. 

There  is  much,  no  doubt,  in  my  life  to  regret,  but 
there  is  nothing  at  all  to  conceal. 

And  let  it  be  understood  once  for  all  that  the 
things  I  have  to  regret  are  not  of  my  life  with  the 
Indians  or  my  attempt  to  ameliorate  their  condition. 
I  only  regret  that  I  failed. 

Nay,  I  snap  my  fingers  at  the  world  and  say,  I  am 
proud  of  that  period  of  my  life.  It  is  the  one  white 
spot  in  my  character,  the  only  effort  of  my  life  to 
look  back  to  with  exultation,  the  only  thing  I  have 
ever  done  or  endeavoured  to  do  that  entitles  me  to 
rank  among  the  men  of  a  great  country. 

And    what    has    been    my    reward? No 

matter,  I  appeal  to  time.     It  may  be  that  a  Phillips 

will  rise  up  yet  to  speak  for  these  people,  or  a  John 

Brown  to  fire  a  gun,  and  then  I  will  be  remembered. 
#         #  *  *  *  *  *        # 

Ah,  thus  I  wrote,  felt  and  believed  in  the  few 
days  that  I  sat  again  in  the  shadows  of  Shasta,  where 
I  wrote  all  but  the  opening  and  concluding  lines  of 
this  narrative.  But  I  had  mixed  too  much  with  the 
restless  and  bustling  life  below  me.  I  had  bound 
myself  in  ties  not  to  be  broken  at  pleasure. 

Besides,  it  was  now  so  lonely.     The   grass  grew 


CHILDREN  OF  SHASTA.  435 

tall  and  entangled  in  the  trails.  It  was  rank  and 
green  from  the  dust  and  ashes  of  the  dead.  It 
flourished  with  all  that  rich  and  intense  verdure  that 
marks  the  grasses  growing  above  your  friends.  Here 
it  was  like  living  in  one  great  graveyard. 

We  went  down  to  the  busy  world  below,  the 
Prince  and  I,  and  ships  have  borne  us  into  other  and 
different  lands;  wanderers  again  upon  the  earth; 
drifting  with  the  world,  borne  up  and  down,  and  on, 
like  the  shifting  levels  of  the  sea. 

The  origin  of  the  late  Modoc  war,  which  was  really 
of  less  importance  than  the  earlier  ones,  and  in  which 
the  last  brave  remnant  of  the  tribe  perished,  may  be 
briefly  chronicled. 

Among  the  Indians,  as  well  as  Christian  nations, 
there  is  often  more  than  one  man  who  aspires  to  or 
claims  to  be  at  the  head  of  the  people.  It  is  a 
favourite  practice  of  the  Indian  agents  to  take  up 
some  coward  or  imbecile  who  may  be  easily  managed, 
and  make  him  the  head  of  a  tribe,  and  so  treat  with 
him,  and  hold  the  whole  tribe  to  answer  for  his  con- 
tracts. In  this  way  vast  tracts  of  land  and  the 
rights  of  a  tribe  are  often  surrendered  for  a  mere 
song.  If  anyone  dissents,  then  the  army  is  called  to 
enforce  the  treaty. 

The  old  treaty  with  the  Moclocs  was  not  much 
unlike  this.  Every  foot  of  their  great  possessions 
had  been  ceded  away  by  one  who  had  not  authority 
to  cede,  or  influence  to  control  the  Indians. 


436  THE  LAST  OF  THE 

They  were  mostly  taken  from  their  old  possessions 
to  a  reservation  to  the  north,  and  on  the  lands  of  the 
Klamat  Indians,  their  old  and  most  bitter  enemies. 
It  was  a  bleak  and  barren  land,  and  the  Indians  were 
well-nigh  starved  to  death. 

Captain  Jack,  who  was  now  the  real  and  recognized 
chief  among  the  Indians,  still  held  on  to  the  home  of 
his  fathers,  an  honest  and  upright  Indian,  and  gath- 
ered about  him  the  best  and  bravest  of  his  tribe. 
Here  they  remained,  raising  horses  and  cattle,  hunt- 
ing, fishing,  and  generally  following  their  old  pursuits, 
till  the  white  settlers  began  to  want  the  little  land 
they  occupied. 

Then  the  authorities  came  to  Captain  Jack,  and 
told  him  he  must  go  to  the  Reservation,  abandon  his 
lands,  and  live  with  his  enemies.  The  Indians  refused 
to  go. 

"  Then  you  must  die." 

"Very  well,"  answered  Captain  Jack;  "it  is  die 
if  we  go,  and  die  if  we  stay.  We  will  die  where  our 
fathers  died." 

At  night — that  time  which  the  Indians  surrender 
to  the  wild  beasts,  and  when  they  give  themselves  up 
in  trust  to  the  Great  Spirit — the  troops  poured  in 
upon  them.     They  met  their  enemies  like  Spartans. 

After  long  holding  their  ground,  then  came  the 
Peace  Commissioners  to  talk  of  peace.  The  Indians, 
remembering   the   tragedy   of  twenty   years    before, 


CHILDREN  OF  SHASTA.  437 

desperate  and  burning  for  revenge,  believing  that  the 
only  alternative  was  to  kill  or  be  killed,  killed  the 
Commissioners,   as   their   own  Peace   Commissioners 
had  been  killed.     They  were  surrounded,  there  was 
not  even  a  possibility  of  escape,  no  hope,  nothing  but 
death,  yet  they  did  this  deed  right  in  the  face  of  the 
desperate  consequences  which  they  knew  must  follow. 
If  we  may  be  permitted  to  exult  in  any  deeds  of 
war,  how  can  we  but  glory  in  the  valour  of  these  few 
men,  battling  there  in  the  shadows  of  Shasta  for  all 
that  is  sacred  to  the  Christian  or  the  savage,  holding 
the  forces  of  the  United    States  at  bay  for   half   a 
year,  looking  death  firmly  in  the  face  and  fighting 
on  without  a  word  day  by  day,  every  day  counting 
a    diminished    number,    shrinking   to   a    diminished 
circle;  bleeding,  starving,  dying;  knowing  that   an- 
nihilation was  only  a  question  of  time.     Knowing  the 
awful  cost  and  yet  counting  down  the  price  bravely 
and  without  a  murmur.     There  is  nothing  nobler  in 
all  the  histories  of  the  hemispheres.     But  they  shall 
not  be  forgotten.     Passion  will  pass  away,  and  even 
their  enemies  of  to-day  will  yet  speak  of  them  with 
respect. 

I  know  that  men  will  answer  that  it  is  impossible 
to  deal  peaceably  with  the  Indians.  I  ask,  who  has 
tried  it?  Penn  tried  it,  and  found  them  the  most 
peaceable,  upright,  and  gentle  of  beings.  The 
Mormons,  certainly  not  the  most  noble  type  of  men 


438  THE  LAST  OF  THE 

at  first,  tried  it,  and  they  were  treated  like  brothers. 
A  destitute  and  half-desperate  band  of  wanderers,  they 
sat  down  in  the  midst  of  the  wildest  and  the  worst  of 
Indians,  and  the  red  men  gave  them  meat  to  eat, 
lands  to  plough,  and  protection  and  food  till  they 
could  protect  and  feed  themselves.  These  are  the 
only  two  examples  of  an  honest  and  continued 
attempt  to  deal  peaceably  and  fairly  with  the  Indians 
that  you  can  point  to  since  the  savage  first  lifted  his 
hands  in  welcome  to  Columbus. 

When  I  die  I  shall  take  this  book  in  my  hand 
and  hold  it  up  in  the  Day  of  Judgement  as  a  sworn 
indictment  against  the  rulers  of  my  country  for  the 
destruction  of  this  people. 

Here  lies  a  letter  giving  a  long  account  of  the 
last  struggle  of  the  Indians  of  Mount  Shasta.  Strange 
how  this  one  little  war  of  the  Modoc  Indians 
has  got  to  the  ears  of  world,  while  a  thousand 
not  much  unlike  it  have  gone  by  in  the  last  century 
unwritten  and  unremembered ;  perhaps  it  is  because 
it  came  in  a  time  of  such  universal  peace. 

Brave  little  handful  of  heroes  !  if  ever  I  return  to 
Mount  Shasta  I  will  seek  out  the  spot  where  the 
last  man  fell ;  I  will  rear  a  monument  of  stones,  and 
name  the  place  Thermopylae. 

And  little  Calli  Shasta,  the  last  of  her  tribe  ? 

At  school  in  San  Francisco.  Her  great  black 
eyes,  deep  and    sad    and  pathetic,  that  seem  to  lay 


'     CHILDREN  OF  SHASTA.  439 

hold  of  you,  that  seem  to  look  you  through  and 
understand  you,  turn  dreamily  upon  the  strange, 
strong  sea  of  people  about  her,  but  she  gazes  uncon- 
cerned upon  it  all.  She  is  looking  there,  but  she  is 
living  elsewhere.  She  is  sitting  there  in  silence,  yet 
her  heart,  her  soul,  her  spirit,  is  threading  the  dark 
and  fragrant  wood.  She  is  listening  to  the  sound- 
ing waterfall,  watching  the  shining  fish  that  dart 
below  the  grassy  border.  Seeing  all  things  here,  she 
understands  nothing  at  all.  What  will  become  of 
her  ?  The  world  would  say  that  she  should  become 
a  prodigy,  that  she  should  at  once  become  civilized, 
lay  hold  of  the  life  around  her,  look  up  and  climb 
to  eminence ;  crush  out  all  her  nature,  forget  her 
childhood;  compete  with  those  educated  from  the 
cradle  up,  and  win  distinction  above  all  these.  The 
world  is  an  ass  ! 

"  And  whose  child  is  she  ? "  I  hear  you  ask.  Well 
now,  here  is  a  little  secret. 

On  her  mother's  side  you  must  know  that  the  last 
and  best  blood  of  a  once  great  tribe  is  in  her  veins. 
And  her  father?  Ah,  that  is  the  little  secret. 
We  only  know.  We  laugh  at  the  many  guesses  and 
speculations  of  the  world,  but  we  keep  the  little 
maiden's  secret. 

If  I  fail  in  my  uncertain  ventures  with  an  un- 
schooled pen,  as  I  have  failed  in  all  other  things, 
then  she  is  not  mine ;  but  if  I  win  a  name  worth 
having,  then  that  name  shall  be  hers. 


440  THE  LAST  OF  THE 

Getting  along  in  her  new  life  ? 

"Well,  here  is  a  paragraph  clipped  from  an  article 

of  many  columns  in  a  San  Francisco  journal: — 

"  She  is  now  fifteen  years  old,  and  is  living  in  San  Erancisco, 
supported  from  the  poet's  purse.  She  is  described  as  strikingly 
beautiful.  She  has  her  mother's  deep,  dark  eyes,  and  wealth  of 
raven  hair,  and  her  father's  clear  Caucasian  skin.  Her  neigh- 
bours call  her  the  beautiful  Spanish  girl,  for  they  know  not  her 
romantic  history;  but  to  her  own  immediate  friends  she  is  known 
as  the  poet's  gifted  child.  It  is  but  justice  to  this  rough,  half- 
savage  man,  to  say  that  he  is  exceedingly  fond  of  her,  and  does 
everything  in  his  power  to  make  her  comfortable  and  happy. " 

What  a  joke  it  would  be  on  this  modern  Gorgon, — 
this  monster  daily  press  of  America  that  eats  up 
men  and  women,  soul  and  body, — this  monster  that 
must  be  fed  night .  and  morning  on  live  men  who 
dare  to  come  to  the  surface,  if  it  should  in  this  case 
be  utterly  mistaken ! 

What  if  this  busy,  searching,  man-devouring  press, 
which  has  compelled  me  to  add  to  this  narrative,  or 
live  and  die  misunderstood,  should  discover  after  all 
that  this  little  lady  is  only  the  old  Doctor's  daughter 
sent  down  to  the  city  in  my  care  to  be  educated  ? 

What  will  become  of  her  ?  The  poor  little  waif, 
when  I  look  into  her  great  wondering  eyes,  I  fancy 
she  is  a  little  rabbit,  startled  and  frightened  from 
the  forest  into  the  clearing,  where  she  knows  not 
whether  to  return  or  bound  forward,  and  so  sits  still 
and  looks  in  wonderment  around  her.  A  little  waif 
is  she,  blown  like  some  strange  bird  from  out  the 
forest  into  a  strange  and  uncertain  land. 


CHILDREN  OF  SHASTA.  441 

Will  she  succeed  in  the  new  scene  ?  Poor  child, 
the  chances  are  against  her.  Only  fancy  yourself 
the  last  one  of  your  race,  compelled  to  seek  out  and 
live  with  another  and  not  an  over-friendly  people. 
And  then  you  would  be  always  thinking  in  spite  of 
yourself;  the  heart  would  be  full  of  memories;  the 
soul  would  not  take  root  in  the  new  soiL 

How  lost  and  how  out  of  place  she  must 
feel !  Poor  little  lady,  she  will  never  hear  the 
voices  of  her  childhood  any  more.  There  is  no  true 
Indian  of  Shasta  living  now  to  speak  her  language. 

Touch  her  gently,  O  Fate,  for  she  is  so  alone  !  she 
is  the  last  of  the  children  of  Shasta. 


APPENDIX 


The  following  extracts  are  made  from  papers  accompany- 
ing the  report  of  the  Commissioner  of  Indian  affairs,  1873, 
which  show  in  some  measure  the  conflicts  of  the  Indians  and 
the  foundation  for  them. 

From  Report  of  J.  G.  Ames  on  California  Indians. 

"The  burden  of  their  complaint  was  to  the  effect  that  they  had  been 
gradually  driven  from  the  lands  which  they  or  their  fathers  once  occupied, 
the  title  to  which  they  thought  justly  belonged  to  them,  until  at  the  present 
time  but  little  available  land  remained  to  them ;  that  white  men  were  in 
many  cases  endeavoring  to  take  from  them  the  lands  upon  which  they  are 
living,  and  by  the  cultivation  of  which  they  gain  a  partial  support ;  that  they 
were  frequently  annoyed  by  the  settlers  interfering  with  water  upon  which 
they  depended  for  irrigation,  corraling  their  stock,  and  subjecting  them  to 
fine  for  the  same,  or  taking  it  from  them  altogether,  threatening  them  with  . 
violence,  and  in  other  ways  invading  what  they  believe  to  be  their  rights ; 
that  in  disposing  of  lands  the  agents  of  the  Government  have  never  recog- 
nized the  possessory  rights  of  the  Indians,  and  that  in  consequence  they 
have  been,  and  are  still,  obliged  to  abandon  lands  which  they  have  held  in 
immemorial  possession,  and  to  remove  from  places  to  which  they  are  specially 
attached,  as  the  home  and  burial-ground  of  their  ancestors,  and  this  without 
any  provision  being  made  for  them  elsewhere. 

"  They  desired  the  Government  to  interfere  to  prevent  this  being  done 
hereafter,  and  to  secure  them  in  the  possession  of  the  lands  now.  occupied 
by  them.  If  this  was  done  they  could  readily  support  themselves,  and  were 
willing  to  do  so,  without  aid  from  the  Government,  except  in  the  matter  of 
farming  implements  and  seed  and  clothing  for  the  supply  of  their  immediate 
wants. 

"  They  urged,  furthermore,  as  a  special  grievance,  that  their  right  to  ele2t 
their  own  chief  had  been  interfered  with  by  the  late  superintendent,  and  that 
the  Government  recognizes  as  chief  an  Indian  who  was  repudiated  by  nearly 
all  the  tribe,  against  whom  they  protested  at  the  time  of  his  appointment, 
two  years  ago,  and  whose .  authority  they  had  since  disregarded.  They 
wished  a  new  election  ordered,  that  the  tribe  might  choose  its  own  chief  and 
be  no  longer  even  nominally  subject  to  one  to  whom  so  few  owed  allegianee." 

"  In  accordance  with  this  view,  the  assumed  Indian  title  has  always  been 
disregarded  by  the  land-officers  of  the  Government  in  this  district  and  by 
settlers.  As  expressed  by  the  present  register  of  the  land-office,  the  location 
of  an  Indian  family  or  families  on  land  upon  which  a  white  man  desires  to 
settle  is,  in  law,  no  more  a  bar  to  such  settlement  than  would  be  the  presence 


REPORT    ON    INDIANS.  443 

of  a  stray  sheep  or  cow.  And  so,  like  sheep  or  cattle,  they  have  been  too 
often  driven  from  their  homes  and  their  cultivated  fields,  the  Government, 
through  its  officers,  refusing  to  hear  their  protests,  as  though  in  equity  as 
well  as  in  law  they  had  no  rights  in  the  least  deserving  consideration." 

"  While  they  complain  of  the  manner  in  which  they  have  been  treated  by 
the  whites,  I  discovered  very  little  of  the  spirit  of  revenge  among  thorn.  So 
far  from  this,  I  think  no  other  race  would  have  borne  so  patiently  and  with 
so  little  effort  at  retaliation  the  indignities  and  wrongs  to  which  they  have 
been  subject." 

From  Report  of  L.  E.  Sleigh  on  California  Indians. 

"The  villagers  began  to  assemble  early.  At  the  appointed  hour  the 
captain  rose,  and  in  a  short  speech  in  the  Indian  language,  which  seemed  to 
be  both  eloquent  and  well  appreciated,  gave  his  hearers  to  understand  the 
errand  upon  which  I  visited  them.  A  lively  interest  was  manifested  by 
every  one.  They  complained  of  the  encroachments  of  their  American 
neighbors  upon  their  land,  and  pointed  to  a  house  near  by,  built  by  one  of 
the  more  adventurous  of  his  class,  who  claimed  to  have  pre-empted  the  land 
upon  which  the  larger  part  of  the  village  lies.  On  calling  upon  the  man 
afterward,  I  found  that  such  was  really  the  case,  and  that  he  had  actually 
paid  the  price  of  the  land  to  the  register  of  the  land-office  of  this  district, 
and  was  daily  expecting  the  patent  from  Washington.  He  owned  it  was 
hard  to  wrest  from  these  well-disposed  and  industrious  creatures  the  homes 
they  had  built  up.  '  But,'  said  he,  '  if  I  had  not  done  it  somebody  else 
would,  for  all  agree  that  the  Indian  has  no  right  to  public  lands.'  These 
Indians  further  complain  that  settlers  take  advantage  of  them  in  every  way 
possible ;  employ  them  to  work  and  insist  on  paying  them  in  trifles  that  are 
of  no  account  to  them  ;  '  dock '  them  for  imaginary  neglect,  or  fail  entirely 
to  pay  them ;  take  up  their  stock  on  the  slightest  pretext  and  make  exorbi- 
tant charges  for  damages  and  detention  of  the  stock  seized.  They  are  in 
many  cases  unable  to  redeem  it.  They  have  therefore  little  encouragement 
to  work  or  to  raise  stock.  Nor  do  they  care  to  plant  fruit-trees  or  grape- 
vines as  long  as  land  thus  improved  may  be  taken  from  them,  as  has  been 
the  case  in  very  many  instances.  Among  the  little  homes  included  in  the 
pre-emption  claim  above  referred  to  are  those  adorned  with  trees  and  vines. 
Instead  of  feeling  secure  and  happy  in  the  possession  of  what  little  is  left  to 
them,  they  are  continually  filled  with  anxiety.  They  claim  that  they  ought 
to  be  allowed  to  remain  where  their  forefathers  have  lived  for  so  long,  and 
that  they  should  be  protected  by  law  in  the  peaceful  possession  of  the  homes 
that  have  been  handed  down  to  them." 

From  Report  of  J.    W.  Powell  and  G.  W.  Ingalls  on  Indians  in   Utah, 

Nevada,  §c. 

"In  their  association  with  the  white  settlers  in  the  valleys  of  Utah,  many 
difficulties  have  arisen  from  time  to  time,  and  frequent  complaints  have  come 
up  to  the  Indian  Department  at  Washington  against  these  Indians,  on  the 
ground  that  they  would  not  remain  on  the  reservation.  But  it  has  not  been 
possible  for  them  to  remain ;  they  have  been  compelled  to  go  elsewhere  to 
obtain  a  living. 

**  When  told  that  they  would  be  forced  to  go  back,  they  openly  defied  the 
authorities,  and  challenged  some  of  the  officers  who  were  present  to  fight. 
When  afterward  informed  that  they  would  be  furnished  with  food  on  the 
agency,  that  herds  of  cattle  and  loads  of  flour  should  be  immediately  taken 
there,  they  agreed  to  go,  and  some  of  these  Indians  have  this  summer  told 
the  commission  that,  at  that  time,  they  had  determined  to  fight  rather  than 
6tay  on  the  reservation  and  starve,  for  they  feared  hunger  more  than  they 
did  the  soldiers.  Under  the  existing  state  of  facts,  it  is  unreasonable  to 
expect  these  Indians  to  remain  on  the  reservation." 

"  In  war  we  deal  with  people  as  organized  into  nationalities,  not  as  indi- 


444  APPENDIX. 

viduals.  Some  hungry  Indian  steals  a  beef,  some  tired  Indian  steals  a 
horse,  a  vicious  Indian  commits  a  depredation,  and  flies  to  the  mountains. 
No  effort  is  made  to  punish  the  real  offender,  but  the  first  Indian  met  is  shot 
at  sight.  Then,  perhaps,  the  Indians  retaliate,  and  the  news  is  spread 
through  the  country  that  war  has  broken  out  with  the  Indians.  Troops  are 
sent  to  the  district  and  wander  around  among  the  mountains  and  return. 
Perhaps  a  few  Indians  are  killed,  and  perhaps  a  few  white  men.  Usually  in 
all  such  cases  the  white  man  is  the  chief  sufferer,  for  he  has  property  which 
can  be  spoiled,  and  the  Indian  has  none  that  he  cannot  easily  hide  in  the 
rocks.  His  methods  of  warfare  are  such  that  we  cannot  cope  with  him 
without  resorting  to  means  which  are  repugnant  to  civilized  people;  and, 
after  spending  thousands,  or  even  millions  of  dollars,  on  an  affair  which,  at 
its  inception,  was  but  a  petty  larceny,  we  make  a  peace  with  the  Indians, 
and  enter  into  an  agreement  to  secure  him  lands,  which  we  cannot  fulfill, 
and  to  give  him  annuities,  the  expense  of  which  are  a  burden  on  the  public 
Treasury." 

From  Rejiort  of  A.  B.  Meacham  on  the  Modoc  Indians. 

"  The  first  difficulty  with  the  emigrants,  as.  they  (the.  Modocs)  reported, 
grew  out  of  the  efforts  of  the  emigrants  to  recapture  horses  found  in  their 
possession,  which  they  claimed  they  had  purchased  from  the  Snake  and  Pitt 
River  Indians. 

"After  hostilities  began,  continued  at  intervals,  during  which  time  many 
Modocs  were  killed  and  many  emigrants  were  cruelly  butchered.  Perhaps 
the  most  revolting  among  the  many  scenes  was  that  of  the  killing  of  seventy- 
five  white  persons  in  1852. 

"  This  terrible  tragedy  called  out  a  company  of  volunteers  'for  the  pro- 
tection of  emigrants,"  who,  under  command  of  Ben  Wright,  of  Yreka,  Cal., 
arrived  on  Tule  Lake,  at  Bloody  Point,  the  scene  of  the  wholesale  butchery 
above  referred  to.  Failing  to  engage  the  Modocs  in  a  fair  battle,  proposed  a 
'  peace  talk,'  which,  was  finally  accepted,  and  forty-six  Modoc  warriors 
responded,  and  were  by  him  and  his  company  attacked,  and  forty-one  of 
them  slain.  This  act  of  treachery  has  always  been  remembered  by  the 
Modoc  people,  and  had  much  to  do  in  perpetuating  the  bitter  feelings  that 
have  since  existed,  and  doubtless  had  influence  in  the  late  assassination. 
Ben  Wright  was  received  at  Yreka  with  great  demonstrations,  bonfires  and 
banquets,  and  was  afterward  appointed  an  Indian  agent  as  a  reward  for  this 
heroic  act  of  treachery  to  a  trusting  people,  and  a  violation  of  the  sacred 
rights  of  a  flag  of  truce.  Had  he  been  held  to  account  for  this  unauthorized 
act,  it  would  have  done  much  to  secure  the  confidence  of  the  Modocs,  and 
other  tribes  as  well.  Hostilities  continued  until  1864,  when  ex- Superintend- 
ent Steele,  of  California,  made  a  temporary  treaty  with  the  several  tribes  in 
the  vicinity  of  Yreka,  including  the  Modocs.  In  October  following,  Super- 
intendent Huntington,  of  Oregon,  under  authority  of  the  General  Govern- 
ment, held  a  treaty-council  at  Council  Grove,  near  Fort  Klamath,  with  the 
Modocs  and  Klamath  Indians,  when  all  the  country  claimed  by  these  tribes 
was  ceded  to  the  Government,  except  so  much  as  may  be  embraced  within 
the  boundaries  of  what  is  known  as  Klamath  reservation,  and  described  in 
the  second  article  of  said  treaty.  Schonchin,  as  head  chief,  (a  brother  of  the 
Schonchin  who  was  executed,)  Captain  Jack,  (as  Kient-poos,)  and  other 
members  of  the  Modoc  tribe,  signed  the  treaty  in  the  presence  of  witnesses. 
It  is  in  evidence  that  the  Modocs,  including  Captain  Jack,  in  conformity  of 
said  treaty,  accepted  goods  and  subsistence,  and  remained  on  the  new  reser- 
vation several  months,  and  finally  left,  returning  to  the  Modoc  country,  and 
ignored  the  treaty,  and  refused  to  return  to  the  reservation  until  December, 
1869,  at  which  time  he  accepted  annuity  goods  and  subsistence;  and,  under 
promise  of  protection  from  the  taunts  and  insults  of  the  Klamaths,  he  again 
took  his  abode  on  the  Klamath  reservation,  together  with  the  remainder  of 
the  tribe,  selecting  Modoc  Point  as  the  site  for  a  home.  They  began  toniake 
arrangements  for  a  permanent  settlement,  and  no  doubt  with  bona-Jide  inten- 


REPORT    ON  ■  INDIANS.  445 

tions  to  remain.  All  this  was  agreed  to,  and  fairly  understood  by  all  parties 
interested,  Klamath  and  Modoc  Indians  included.  The  former,  however, 
began  soon  thereafter  to  taunt  the  latter  with  being  '  strangers,  orphans,  poor 
men,  etc.,'  claiming  the  timber,  fish,  grass,  and  water,  and  in  various  ways 
annoying  them.  Captain  Jack  appealed  to  Captain  Knapp,  then  acting  agent, 
for  protection  from  their  insults.  Agent  Knapp,  not  fully  comprehending 
how  much  was  involved  in  his  action,  removed  Captain  Jack's  band  of  Mo- 
docs  to  a  new  location,  where  they  began  again  to  make  tails,  and  prepare 
logs  for  building,  when  the  Klamaths,  emboldened  by  the  success  of  their 
first  interference,  and  being  in  no  wise  punished,  or  reprimanded,  repeated 
the  insults.  Captain  Jack  again  •  appealed  for  protection  to  Agent  Knapp, 
who  proposed  still  another  home  for  the  Modocs.  Captain  Jack  again 
sought  a  resting-place'  for  his  people,  and  not  finding  one  to  his  satisfaction 
he  called  them  together,  and  declared  his  intention  to  leave  the  reservation, 
which  he  did,  returning  to  the  Lost  Kiver  country,  where  he  remained 
several  months,  and  until  persuaded  to  return  to  Klamath  reservation,  at 
Yainax  station.  Unfortunately  he  here  employed  an  Indian  doctor  to  act 
as  a  physician,  and,  under  an  old  Indian  law,  when  the  patient  died,  he 
killed,  or  caused  to  be  killed,  the  Indian  doctor.  The  reservation  Indians 
demanded  his  arrest  and  punishment.  He  fled  to  the  Modoc  country,  was 
pursued,  but,  eluding  arrest,  he  sent  messengers  proposing  a  conference. 
Commissions  were  sent  to  meet  him,  and  a  temporary  peace  secured,  on  the 
condition  that  he  would  keep  his  people  aAvay  from  the  settlements,  and  sub- 
mit to  arrest,  if  demand  should  be  made.  He  insisted  then,  as  he  had  pre- 
viously done,  for  a  home  on  Lost  Iliver.  The  commissioner,  under  instruc- 
tions from  superintendent  of  Indian  affairs,  promised  to  lay  the  request 
before  the  Commissioner  at  Washington,  which  was  done,  together  with  the 
reasons  for  so  doing,  also  recommending  that  a  small  reservation  of  six 
milts  square  be  allowed  them  at  the  mouth  of  Lost  Kiver.  No  action  was 
ever  taken." 

"  1st.  In  18G9,  satisfied  that  force  would  be  errployed  if  they  resisted, 
they  (the  Modocs)  went  on  to  Klamath  reservation  under  promises  of  pro- 
tection. 

"2d.  Had  they  been  thus  protected  in  their  rights  as  against  the  insults 
of  the  Klamath  Indians  they  would  have  remained,  and  no  second  stampede 
would  have  followed;  that  the  failure  to  keep  the  promise  of  protection  im- 
paired the  confidence  of  the  Modocs  in  subsequent  promises. 

"  3d.  That  in  1870  an  understanding  was  had  that  an  effort  would  be 
made  to  obtain  a  small  reservation  for  them  on  Lost  Kiver,  on  condition  that 
they  kept  the  peace.  No  action  was  taken  by  the  Department  on  this  mat- 
ter. The  Modocs,  discouraged  by  the  delay  and  emboldened  thereby,  be- 
came an  unbearable  annoyance  to  the  settlers,  and  removal  of  location  could 
not  be  deferred. 

"4th.  A  small  reservation,  as  recommended,  would  have  averted  all 
trouble  with  these  people,  and  the  failure  to  notify  them  that  no  action  would 
be  had  on  the  matter  was  a  blunder. 

"5th.  Had  they  been  fully  apprised  of  the  fact  in  a  way  to  give  them 
confidence  that  no  home  would  be  allowed  them  on  Lost  River,  and  an 
appeal  been  properly  made  by  some  officer  of  the  Indian  Department,  they 
might  not  have  resisted. 

"  6th.  Superstitious  Indian  religion  had  much  to  do  in  causing  them  to 
resist. 

"  7th.  Want  of  adaptability  of  Government  agents  produces  confusion 
and  sometimes  war. 

"  Finally,  this  war  was  the  result  of  changing  agents  and  policies  too 
often,  and  the  absence  of  well-defined  regulations  regarding  the  relative 
duties  and  powers  of  the  Indian  and  military  Departments,  the  citizens,  and 
Inuians. 


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Ivl^RKl     TWAIN 

AND 

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A    Sll.lItP,    PUJTGEJTT    BOOK, 

BY 

JOSIAH     ALLEN'S     WIFE, 

Who  wrote  it  in  spite  of  Josiah's  determination  not  to  pay  a  cent  to  hire 
anybody  to  read  it. 

It  tells  its  own  story.    No  one  can  read  it  without  the  keenest  enjoyment. 
It  is  full  of  humor,  sarcasm  and  instruction. 

What     tlie     Press     Say  : 

Dickens  or  Mark  Twain  in  their  happiest  moments  never  produced  anything 
equal  to  "My  Opinions." — Flint  {Mich.)  Globe. 

There  have  been  f ew  books  written  which  have  contained  such  a  fund  of  quiet 
and  cunning  humor,  sarcasm  and  philosophy. — Bridgeport  (Conn.)  Standard. 

11  My  Opinions  and  Betsey  Bobbet's,"  by  Josiah  Allen's  Wife,  a  new  book  in 
the  humorous  vein,  has  great  power  to  amuse.  Many  of  the  chapters  on  the 
mishaps  and  oddities  of  home  life  in  the  country,  with  portraiture  of  character, 
and  rei.dering  of  conversation  and  exposition  of  view,  are  irresistibly  funny. 
There  is  much  extravagance  in  it,  much  nonsense,  and  also  much  point,  and  an 
indefinite  amount  of  fun. — Toledo  Weekly  Blade. 

"  Josiah  Allen's  Wife"  is  a  right  down  sensiblewoman,  and  her  "  Opinions"  are 
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humorists. — Putnam  Patriot. 

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those  in  want  of  a  good  laugh,  it  can  confidently  be  recommended,  both  as  regards 
text  and  illustrations,  which  are  plentiful.— Morning  Herald,  Prov.,  M.  I. 

"My  Opinions  and  Betsey  Bobbet's,"  is  "by  Josiah  Allen's  wife,"  who,  if  she 
don't  know  how  to  spell,  certainly  knows  how  to  write  a  book,  and  in  this  par- 
ticular she  is  not  unlike  Josh  Billings,  or  the  late  lamented  Artemus  Ward.  ,  The 
book  is  exceedingly  droll  and  humorous,  cute,  sarcastic  and  smart;  and  "Josiah 
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point.  The  illustrations  are  numerous  and  funny,  and  the  whole  thing  is  the 
funniest  book  that  has  come  to  our  notice  since  Mark  Twain's  "  Innocents"  got 
abroad.  In  fact  the  latter  will  have  to  return  home  a  while  now,  until  the  pub- 
lic read  and  laugh  over  "Josiah  Allen's  wife,"  which  will  have  a  great  sale.— 
Webster  Times. 

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"  Every  part  of  the  book  is  written  with  exquisite  humor,  end  it  will  be 
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this  little  volume  to  those  who  are  seeking  for  a  thoroughly  entertaining  book. 
They  will  pity  and  perhaps  despise  Betsey  Bobbet,  even  though  she  will  amuse 
them ;  but  we  are  deceived  if  they  do  not  learn  to  respect  Josiah  Allen's  Wife, 
in  spite  of  her  absurd  blunders,  as  a  woman  whose  heart  is  right,  and  whose 
brains  are  not  addled." — London  Queen. 

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IS  A  COMPANION  VOLUME  TO 

THE    INNOCENTS   ABROAD, 

And  like  it  is  filled  with  descriptions  of  people  and  things  seen  by 
the  author  himself,  with  his  own  eyes,  which  differ  in  some  respects 
from  those  of  others;  related  in  his  own  style,  which  if  in  no  other 
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It  is  suited  to  the  wants  of  the  old,  the  young,  the  rich,  the  poor, 
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And  those  who  always  laugh,  make  laugh  the  more." 

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COUNTRIES     AND     PEOPLE    WE    SHOULD     KNOW. 


OVERLAND  THROUGH  ASIA 

Pictures  of  Siberian,  Chinese,  and  Tartar  Life,  Travels  and 

Adventures  in  Kamchatka,  Siberia,  China,  Mongolia, 

Chinese  Tartary,  and  Russia. 

Experiences  on  tSic  hitherto  almost  unknown  A  moor  Iiiver,  rivalling  the 

Mississippi  in  size  and  grandeur  ;   describing  its  Splendid  Valley, 

with  its  Gold  Mines,  Inhabitants,  etc.,  etc. 

Full    Account   of   the   Siberian    Exiles,  with   their   world   of  Incidents    and 
Romance.     Thousands  of  Miles  in,  Sleighs,  etc. 

WITH  AN  ACCURATE  AND  MINUTE  MAP  AND  NEARLY 

TWO  HUHDBED  FINE  AND  APPEOPSIATE   ENGRAVINGS, 

BY    THE    BEST    ARTISTS. 

BEING  A  COMPREHENSIVE  AND  VALUABLE  EXPOSITION  OF  THE  COUNTRIES  OP 

Alaska,  Kamchatka,  Siberia,  China,  &  Russia,  as  they  are  to-day. 
By  THOMAS  W.   KNOX,  ' 

-A.-uth.or>    of  "Camp    Eire    and.    Cotton    Eield." 

Pew  know  anything  of  the  great  country  explored  by  the  author,  except  so  far  as  they  have 

fathered  ideas  of  it  from  floating  rumors  and  unreliable  stories.  Comparatively  few  even  would 
now  how  to  proceed  to  reach  it  from  San  Francisco.  Scarcely  any  know  of  the  magnificent 
river,  the  A  moor,  and  of  the  vast  valley  it  water".  All  will  be  surprised,  on  reading  this  book, 
to  see  how  different  is  the  truth,  from  their  imaginings  of  this  entire  region  and  its  inhabitants. 

The  author  of  this  work  came  prominently  before  the  public  as  one  of  the  old  War  Cor- 
respondents, and  has  been  more  recently  known  as  one  of  the  most  able  and  popular  writers 
and  journalists  of  the  day. 

His  attempt  to  go  around  the  world  by  way  of  Kamchatka,  Siberia,  Russia,  etc.,  involving 
thousands  of  miles  travel  through  an  almost  unknown  country,  drew  great  attention  at  the 
time.  The  successful  result,  and  the  safe  arrival  of  the  traveller  at  St.  Petersburg,  after  a 
journey  through  the  vast  region  between  the  mouth  of  the  Amoor  river  and  that  city — a  feat 
scarcely  ever  before  performed  by  a  foreigner, — created  great  interest  in  the  trip;  and  no 
subject  to-day  can  be  more  intensely  fascinating  than  that  presented  in  this  book. 

Agents  wanted.    Apply  to  AMERICAN  PUBLISHING  CO.,  Hartford,  Conn. 

THE  UNCIVILIZED  RACES; 
Or,  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  MAN. 

A.  complete  account  of  the  Manners  and  Customs,  and  the  I'ltysical,  Social,  and 

Jtelijious  Conditions  and  Characteristics  of  the  Uncivilized  Iiaces  of  Men 
THROUGrHOUT      TH3H      3E  3>T  1*  X  H.  IE      WORLD. 

By  Rev.   J.    G.  WOOD,   M.  A.,   F.  L.  S., 

■A-utlior    of    Natural    History    of  Animals,    33ible    Animals,    etc.,    etc. 

"With  over  700  Fine  Illustrations  from  Ke-w  Designs,  by  Zwecker, 

Angas  Danfty,  Haadley,  Wolf,  etc., 

Bound  in  2  Volumes :  also  in  1  Volume  Complete,  of  nearly  1,700  Pages. 

The  author  of  this  work  has  the  endorsement  of  the  most  literary  men  of  Great  Britain. 
He  has.  by  his  exhaustive  and  invaluable  works  on  men,  birds,  beasts,  etc.,  placed  himself 
foremost  among  writers  on  Natural  History. 

The  work  here  offered  is  the  most  interesting  of  all  his  writings.  Years  of  travel  and  care- 
ful research  have  been  spent  in  its  preparation,  the  records  of  the  most  famous  explorers  have 
been  studied  and  compared,  living  travellers  have  given  their  aid  to  the  work,  and  have  con- 
tributed 10  the  author's  collection  of  the  dresses,  ornaments,  maps,  etc.,  of  barbarous  races, 
from  which  ample  drawings  have  been  made  to  fully  illustrate  the  work. 

Reflecting  every  phase  of  uncivilized  life  and  society,  giving  lite-like  pictures  of  the  pecu- 
liar institutions  and  the  manners  and  customs  of  every  cla*s  and  race  of  men,  except  the  white, 
on  the  entire  globe,  their  modes  and  habits  of  life,  where  and  how  they  live,  in  fact  showing  up 
the  whole  outer  and  inner  life  of  the  great  majority  of  the  people  in  the  known  world,  in  a 
manner  and  with  a  fulness  never  equalled,  the  work  is  offered  by  the  publishers  with  implicit 
faith  in  its  being  recognized  as  a  book  of  rare  merit  and  value. 

Agents  wanted.    Apply  to  AMERICAN  PUBLISHING  CO,,  Hartford,  Conn. 


:ntew  JLisnD  enlarged  edition 

OF 

EIOHARDSON'S 

"BEYOND  THE  MISSISSIPPI." 

BROUGHT  FORWARD  TO  THE  SUMMER  OF  1869, 

DESCRIBING 

THE  OLD  WEST  AS  IT  WAS,  and  THE  NEW  WEST  AS  IT  IS, 

FROM  THE  GREAT  RIVER  TO  THE  GREAT  OCEAX. 

620  LARGE  OCTAVO  PAGES.— 216  ILLUSTRATIONS, 
and  the  most  Minute  and  Accurate  Map  of  the  country  in  existence. 

1857   to    1869. 

THE 

OPENING    OF    THE    PACIFIC    RAILROAD, 

its  Origin,  Progress,  and  Completion,  together  with  all  the  Great  Changes  in  the 
country  incident  thereto,  are  fully  and  faithfully  described.  It  gives  even/  Station  on 
the  road,  Distances  apart,  and  such  other  Important  Statistics  as  render  it  invaluable  to  all. 

All  other  proposed  Railroad  Routes  to  the  Pacific  are  found  upon  its  map,  and  are 
duly  considered  and  explained.  Ail  subjects  connected  with  these  roads  are  fully 
written  up. 

This  work  gives  graphic  accounts  of  the  Progress  of  the  Western  half  of  our  con- 
tinent, and  the  most  romantic,  stirring,  and  picturesque  incidents  in  its  history. 

OF  MORMONISM  AND  POLYGAMY  IN  UTAH, 

With  fine  Illustrations  of  Life  in  Salt  Lake  city,  of  Brigham  Young,  his  Wives, 
Children,  Residences,  &c,  &c. 

Of  the  great  NATURAL  CURIOSITIES,  of  which  there  are  more  in  Western 
America  than  on  all  the  globe  beside  :  among  which  are  the  Rocky  Mountains  and 
the  Sierra  Ncvadas  ;  Pictured  Rocks  ;  Lakes  among  the  Clouds  ;  hundreds  of  Mineral 
Springs  ;  Great  Salt  Lake  and  its  Basin  ;  the  Snake  River  Cataract  of  Idaho ;  the 
Great  Falls  of  the  Missouri ;  the  unapproached  Scenery  of  Columbia  River  ;  the 
boundless  Forests  and  beautiful  Puget  Sound  of  far  Washington  Territory  ;  Pike's 
Peak;  Long's  Peak;  Mount  Shasta,  Mount  Hood,  Mount  Rainer;  the  Geysers,  Big 
Tree  Groves,  and  the  stupendous  Yosemite  Valley  of  California. 

It  describes  and  gives  views  of  THE  BIG  CANYON  OF  THE  COLORADO 
RIVER,  500  miles  long,  with  the  incredible  journey  of  James  White  through  it, 
upon  a  raft,  occupying  14  days,  during  7  of  which  White  was  without  food;  of  the 

DISCOVERY   AND   OPENING    UP   of  the 

NEW  WHITE  PINE  SILVER  REGION  OF  NEVADA, 

which  is  attracting  thousands  of  emigrants  and  causing  the  wildest  excitement  ever 
known  in  our  mining  history. 

COMPLETE  STATISTICS  OF  EACH  STATE  AND  TERRITORY, 

in  Gold  and  Silver,  and  other  Products,  increase  of  Population,  number  of  acres  of 
Public  Land,  value  of  same,  surrounding  Markets,  with  the  inducements  offered  to 
settlers,  can  be  found  in  its  pages.  No  other  book  extant  contains  one-half  the  in- 
formation on  the  subject  contained  in  this. 

To  the  Emigrant,  to  the  Traveler,  and  to  all  others  whose  interests  or  inclinations 
draw  their  attention  westward,  this  book  will  be  invaluable,  treating  fully  of  this  part 
of  our  country,  its  vast  and  unequalled  resources,  and  of  the  comparative  extent, 
capabilities,  and  availabilities  of  its  different  sections,  giving  such  information  as  can 
be  obtained  from  no  other  source.  « 

CO  NDITIONS. 

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aration and  publication,  to  illustrate  them  profusely  and  to  sell 
them  at  much  lower  prices  than  works  of  equal  cost  are  sold  by 
the  regular  trade.  They  also  are  enabled  by  this  method  to  main- 
tain an  uniformity  of  price  throughout  the  country,  and  to  see 
that  all  subscribers  receive  what  they  actually  contract  for. 

THE  AMERICAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

have  universally  given  better  books  than  they  promised.  They 
look  back  with  gratification  over  their  list,  and  the  unqualified  praise 
each  volume  has  received  from  the  press  and  the  public.  They 
publish  nothing  but  books  worthy  a  place  in  the  libraries  of  the 
educated  and  the  refined;  and  such  books,  by  their  system  of 
agents,  they  bring  to  the  direct  notice  of  almost  every  person  in 
the  country.  No  recommendations  are  given  to  the  public  except 
those  sent  from  voluntary  sources ;  and  no  unworthy  means  are 
taken  to  procure  them. 

We  Want  Agents  Throughout  the  Country. 

The  sale  of  our  works  is  an  honorable  and  praiseworthy  em- 
ployment, and  is  particularly  adapted  to  disabled  Soldiers,  aged 
and  other  Clergymen  having  leisure  hours,  Teachers  and  Students 
during  vacation,  &c.,  Invalids  unable  to  endure  hard  physical  labor, 
Young  Men  who  wish  to  travel  and  gather  knowledge  and  experi- 
ence by  contact  with  the  world,  and  all  who  can  bring  industry, 
perseverance,  and  a  determined  will  to  the  work.  Women  who 
can  devote  time  to  the  work,  often  make  the  best  of  canvassers.  Our 
terms  to  agents  are  very  liberal ;  we  give  exclusive  territory  to 
operate  in ;  Catalogues  and  Circulars  sent  free  upon  application. 
Address  AMERICAN  PUBLISHING  CO.,  Hartford,  Conn. 


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